Veritas
by FireKali Chaos
Summary: WIP. McShep. An SGA/NCIS crossover. When NCIS Dir. Jenny Sheppard dies, Lt. Col. John Sheppard is recalled from Atlantis to investigate the connection to the Stargate programme.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer:_ The author does not own any of NCIS or Stargate, only borrows them for the sake of this fanfiction. No profit is made by the writing of this story.

_Warnings:_ Anything one expects to see on Stargate or NCIS, expect it here; also, slash in the form of Jack/Daniel, and John/Rodney; het pairings include Tony/Ziva, Gibbs/Jenny.

_If you dislike such things, or are underage, do not read!_

_Author's Notes:_ For points of reference, this is taking place late season 04 of SGA, post "_Ark of Truth_" but pre-"_Continuum_" of SG-1, and the end of season 05 of NCIS.  
I'm using the same spelling "Sheppard," as in Lt. Col. John Sheppard, for Dir. Jenny Shepard's character, the reasons for which will become obvious in the story.  
Also, I'm playing with some – okay, a lot – of the canon plotlines from both series (this being a primarily SGA/NCIS crossover, with cameos by SG-1). Therefore in this fic, from SGA, Teyla will not be pregnant nor kidnapped by Michael or any of that, and from NCIS, Vance will not split up Gibbs' team and that whole thing with the mole is not part of my plan.

_**VERITAS**_

By _**FireKali Chaos**_

_Big thanks to Rainy for the beta!_

**Chapter I**

Pegasus Galaxy – M35-117  
Atlantis base  
1800 hrs. (Atlantis time)

With its elegant 'kerwoosh!' of light and sound, the Gate lit up with the incoming wormhole, and through the event horizon SGA-1 walked into the Gateroom – for once all safe and sound, if a tad dusty and sweaty. They'd been checking out a rare planet in the galaxy (for Pegasus, at least) – a desert planet – that was mentioned in the Atlantis database several times purporting to be an Ancient outpost during their war with the Wraith. SGA-1 had gone to check it out first, and if they found anything then a research team would be assembled and sent to conduct further studies. The team had gone on foot for once, rather than flying a puddlejumper, when the MALP and UAV had sent back initial reports of massive sand dunes and the worst flash-sandstorms any of the scientists had ever seen recorded. The conditions prompted Lt. Col. John Sheppard (military commander of the base and SGA-1 team leader) to err on the side of caution and forgo flying in – just in case.

The Gate shut down behind them as they paused to dust themselves off a little better – Dr. Rodney McKay (Chief Science Officer of the expedition) complaining vociferously about the probable sunburn and onset of melanoma, as well as the dust and sand that got into _everything_ (his clothes and hair _and_ his precious equipment) all the while. Luckily, his teammates were all very used to him and had long ago learned the out of tuning him out when there was no true threat.

"McKay, I'm pretty sure Dr. Keller will put your cancer worries to rest at your check-up." Sheppard said in his most genially reassuring voice, slapping the scientist on one back shoulder. He coughed at the plume of dust that action raised and wafted it away. "Geez! I don't know about you guys, but I'm gonna shower and drink a lot of water before debriefing Carter."

"That sounds wonderful." Teyla Emmagan agreed, looking very much like she had been rolling around in the sand dunes, she was so covered in grit. "What time shall we meet?"

Glancing at his watch, John shrugged. "An hour? Then at least we can grab supper, too."

"Thank god! I'm starving!" Rodney sighed, already heading for the transporters. "See you then!" he called over his shoulder.

Ronon Dex shook his head. "Never thought I'd agree with McKay on anything but…" he nodded at Teyla and Sheppard, "I'm pretty hungry, too. Later."

Teyla smiled at John and followed Ronon to the transporters, leaving Sheppard to check in with his people before he went to his own quarters to get cleaned up, change, and grab food and water.

He was at the top of the grand staircase, going over the mission roster with Major Evan Lorne, when Col. Samantha Carter (of former SG-1 fame and now the Atlantis expedition's IOA appointed leader) came over from her office next to the control room.

"Col. Sheppard." She greeted him, then the Major. "Lorne."

"Ma'am." Lorne glanced back and forth between the two, taking in Carter's expression, and promptly excused himself. "I can handle the rest, sir. Just wanted your opinion on a few, that's all. Thank you, sir."

Sheppard watched him beat a hasty retreat bemusedly. "What can I do for you, Colonel? If it's not too urgent, I'd really appreciate a shower and something to eat before the briefing." His voice, posture, and expression were deceptively laid-back and easy-going, for he, too, noted her expression and it automatically put him on edge, a subtle tension underlying everything else.

Sam hesitated, then sighed. It wouldn't make much of a difference if she told him now or later. "Alright. But John, about the briefing?"

"Yes?"

"Is there anything that needs to be discussed? Because if not, we'll just skip it and I'll get whatever is needed from your team's mission reports."

Still tense, but somewhat more relaxed now that whatever it was that made Carter look so sad and grim wasn't so urgent after all, John shook his head. "No, not really. Lots of sand, wind, and sun. The ruins are there, but almost completely buried under the dunes. Rodney couldn't pin-point any significant energy readings, so there probably aren't any ZPMs lying around."

"Very well. Go have your shower and a meal, then report back to my office, John. I have something personal we need to discuss."

Surprised – and a little concerned – John frowned. "Yes, ma'am. I'm not being reassigned or something, am I?" It was a fear that always lived in the back of his mind, that someone up the chain of command would pull him away from the place that had become home to him, a place he finally belonged.

Sam's blue eyes widened, and she smiled reassuringly. "No, John. Nothing like that, don't worry."

Warily, he shrugged and sketched a lazy salute before heading for the transporter, all the while wondering what Carter would possibly went to discuss.

* * *

Happily clean and refreshed, Rodney emerged from his bathroom dressed in his usual on-base, on-duty science uniforms (minus the jacket), barefoot, and towelling his hair dry. He'd decided – after much internal dialogue and debate – that taking more time for his shower was more worth it than taking more time for dinner. After the briefing he could always stop by the mess and grab something else, eating just a small tidbit before the briefing, enough to stave off his hypoglycaemia. That decision led to a twenty minute shower, which he savoured immensely after being on a planet that he was tempted to label the "Dune" planet. Or something equally appropriate. They weren't lying when they said sand gets everywhere. Whoever 'they' were.

Humming thoughtfully to himself, Rodney tossed the towel in the laundry basket and picked up his headset, replacing it on this head – just in time to catch the radio squawking out his name impatiently.

"McKay! Damn it, answer me or I'm going to come bust down your door with every Marine in the city!"

"Do that and not one of you will know what hot water is like ever again, Colonel!" he snapped back without even stopping to think about it, scowling even though no one would see it. "I just got out of the shower!"

"Finally! We've all tried raising you on the radio for the last 10 minutes!" Sheppard declared in an obviously exasperated voice…and maybe a hint of relief, too. "We were starting to worry."

"Yes, well, like I said: shower. And as nice as it is to know you care, what's happened that you want me for so frantically, anyway?" Rodney asked, sitting at his small desk and opening up his laptop, intending to check his emails and get started on the readings he'd taken on the mission. "What's broken, who broke it, and where do I go to fix it?"

"Rodney," the drawled reply came with the impression of rolling hazel eyes, "that's not it. I just wanted to tell you that Carter's waiving the briefing, so there's no rush."

"That's it?" the astrophysicist huffed, fingers tapping restlessly as he waited for the computer to boot up. "_That's_ all you wanted? Such a big fuss for nothing." Before Sheppard could retort, Rodney ploughed on with, "Why cancelled? Is she busy with something else?"

"I don't know. She wants to talk to me after we eat, though."

Frowning, Rodney looked up at his wall full of his degrees and awards. "That sounds ominous."

"Yeah. Well, I gotta go. Mess in ten?"

"Okay."

"Sheppard out."

Glancing at his watch, Rodney decided to leave his emails for later and went to get a pair of socks and finish getting dressed. Then he made his way to the mess hall to meet his team for dinner.

Rodney was just polishing off his desert (blue-Jello) when Dr. Radek Zelenka stopped at their table as he passed by.

"Good! You are back!" Radek stated, almost in relief. "Now perhaps you will check the theorems I sent you, yes? Rodney?"

"Yes, yes." McKay waved his free hand dismissively. "Geez, Radek! I only got those yesterday. What's the emergency?"

The wild-haired Czech huffed and gave his friend and colleague a hard stare. "You are one who demanded my proofs be done, McKay. Is you with emergency! You set time limit!"

Swallowing his last bite of Jello, Rodney had the grace to acknowledge the truth of that – even if he remained wholly unapologetic. "That's true. You know you're more intelligent under pressure and deadlines, right?"

Scowling, Radek made an exasperated sound. "Do not be more of an ass than you are, Rodney." The scowl faded and Radek made to leave, saying over his shoulder, "The latest data-stream from Earth was received prior to your return. You may wish to go over it, Rodney."

The Chief Scientist sighed and rolled his eyes. "Great. I suppose that's his way of telling me that there's a lot of stuff for me in it."

John made a sympathetic noise and pushed his own bowl of wiggly blue dessert toward Rodney, who lit up and dug in with appreciation. John didn't think the man had realized yet that John rarely ate his own dessert, he almost always gave it to Rodney. "I take it you'll be busy for the rest of the evening, then? No time for a game?"

Rodney waved his spoon in the air expressively, looking a little startled. "Chess? I always have time for that, Colonel. Maybe this time you'll actually challenge me."

"Rodney, I win two out of three games when we play." John leaned back in his seat and folded his arms over his chest, smug and relaxed. "There aren't many who can say that."

"Whatever. We'll see who's ahead later, won't we?"

Teyla smiled, pleased they were sparring their usual friendly way rather than sniping at each other – an occurrence that happened much too often since the Doranda incident nearly three years ago, despite how hard Rodney worked at regaining Sheppard's respect and trust. Their friendship had been on a very rocky road, with many ups and downs, for many months. She exchanged a quick glance with Ronon, and the two stood.

"We will see you both in the morning." Teyla said in farewell as Ronon gathered their trays to dispose of them on the way out of the mess. "Good luck with your chess match."

"Goodnight, Teyla. Ronon." John returned. Ronon nodded at him and Rodney as he passed by, and Rodney gave a little wave, his mouth full of Jello.

Sighing, John waited until his coffee was gone before getting up with obvious reluctance. "I guess I'd better go find out what Carter wants."

"You still don't know what it could be about?" Rodney asked, also rising and grabbing his tray to follow John.

"Nope. All she said was that it was a personal matter." Which puzzled the officer because he honestly couldn't think of anything to evoke such a grim expression on her face – nothing that involved him, at least.

"Personal? Oh, well." Suddenly Rodney seemed to withdraw, his veneer of professionalism sliding down over whatever had come up in his mind at John's words. "if you need something, which I'm sure you don't, from me…with personal things, I mean…you know where to find me." The scientist babbled on in that clipped Canadian tone of cool politeness he had (when he actually chose to _be_ polite), before leaving a startled and confused John standing in front of the transporter alone.

"What did I say?" He wondered aloud, frowning at himself and Rodney's strange behaviour. Then it occurred to him that putting the concepts of himself, a "personal" matter, and Carter in the same thought probably equalled some sort of torrid affair in McKay's mind, knowing how hard Rodney crushed on the brilliant, blonde Colonel since John had met Rodney. Making his way to Carter's office, John shook his head ruefully, not even annoyed by the probable presumption for some reason (where he normally would have been), and made a mental note to ease Rodney's mind on that subject at their chess game tonight.

In the meantime, he was about to find out what was so dire.

Sam Carter looked up from her laptop on her desk as John strolled in, giving him a fleeting smile of welcome. "Have a seat, John." She indicated the chairs in front of her desk as she got up. Closing the computer, Sam walked around her desk and closed the office doors before taking the other chair herself. "Did you get a meal?"

"Yes, Colonel. Look, whatever it is, just spit it out, okay? The suspense is killing me." John cut through the pleasantries, even though he could tell she really didn't want to say whatever it was."

"Very well. Col. Sheppard, I regret to inform you of the death of Director Jenny Sheppard, NCIS." Sam informed him in a voice that was soft and sympathetic, despite the impersonal, military delivery of the statement. Her heart hurt at the sudden paleness and absolute shock that came over his face for a moment before he abruptly clammed up, carefully concealing all emotion from her.

"Jenny…" he murmured, and Sam didn't think he realized he'd spoken aloud. "How?" Shadowed hazel eyes met her own sky blue ones, questioning.

"The truth is that we aren't entirely certain of the facts surrounding her death. She was shot, John, in a shoot-out with unknown assailants, in an abandoned diner outside LA in the desert. What's known about it is very sketchy and vague in detail." Sam folded her hands in her lap and tried to explain as best she could, according to the information she'd been given. "There's evidence supporting the theory that it involved a mission she worked in the past in Europe, and there's some speculation about some top-secret documents she may have known the whereabouts of."

"She was on a mission for NCIS at this diner?" John asked, eyes dark and eerily hard. Sam suppressed a shiver, even though she was quite familiar with the anger and darkness that came of losing a loved one so violently.

"Not officially. It's part of the problem." Sam didn't look very pleased about it, either. "Whatever led her there, she didn't leave a trail for anyone to follow – or at least that's what NCIS is reporting via SEC-NAV. Our people are having difficulty communicating with that agency when they try to find out anything because there's no reason for us to be interested as far as they're concerned." John understood what she meant; the Air Force was the primary force behind the programme, even with the large number of Marines assigned, and the USAF should have no reason to be poking around in the death of a Director of a Naval agency. Not even if one of her remaining family members was a USAF Lt. Colonel who would want to know what happened. God, he hated politics!

"Wait…why _does_ the SGC care? I highly doubt they're making inquiries on _my_ behalf." Sheppard scoffed darkly. "I'm not that popular."

Sam nodded. "The intel leads us to believe that the documents she may have known of could be some sensitive files that went missing early on in the SGC's existence – files containing data on Goa'uld technologies, and other data from many of the SGC's first off-world encounters with alien peoples and technologies. A lot of information was copied and stolen by rogue NID agents back then, and we never really found out just how much they got or what, exactly, it was they stole."

"What, you don't even know for certain that what she had _was_ actually related to the programme? And I thought the NID had been put down with Kinsey's death. That's what I remember reading, at least."

"Well, that rogue operation was, yes. But it didn't matter because whatever they had likely ended up in the hands of the Trust – who I'm sure you also remember." Sam sighed, wishing she had all the answers. "Ever since we found out about Baal and his clones, some of us have suspected that he may be the one behind the Trust, and likely was all along. But that much is irrelevant at this point. Right now the major concern is about a possible intel leak."

"Of course it is. Never mind that an innocent woman got murdered – probably without even knowing what was in those documents." Sheppard growled, getting up and beginning to pace the small are between Carter's desk and office door.

"I'm sorry, John. From your file, I know what she must mean to you, and I'm truly sorry for your loss. Generals Landry and O'Neill both sent their condolences, too." Sam watched him pace like a caged animal – restless, angry, wild…and dangerous. "You will, of course, have leave to return to Earth immediately for the memorial service, which is two days from now. And if you want to take bereavement leave, also, just let General Landry know and he'll relay it to me. Don't worry about things around here, either. Major Lorne and I can handle whatever might come up."

John gave a grunt of acknowledgement, still stalking back and forth with a distinctly feline pace. "Colonel, I have to go back and find these people myself. Jenny…she would expect no less of me, and I've tried very hard all my life to never let her down."

Sam eyed him for a moment consideringly, then nodded and returned to the other side of her desk. "I kind of figured you'd say that. So did General O'Neill, actually. He's arranged for you to fly to DC the day before the memorial service so that you can be fully briefed." She had a faintly exasperated smile on her face as she spoke of her former team leader and friend. Jack O'Neill always was a consummate and canny strategist.

"Fly?" That gave Sheppard pause, having gotten used to puddlejumpers and ships with Asgard beam technology.

Chuckling, Sam shook her head. "I'm afraid not. _Odyssey_'s tasked with checking up on our allies around the galaxy now that Adria and the Priors are gone, and _Apollo_'s in for repairs. _Daedalus_ isn't quite home yet, either, so you'll have to get around the old fashioned way for a while."

Sheppard nodded, not really seriously mourning the loss. He _was_ a pilot, after all, and he missed flying and all that came with it. "They could just give me a plane and I could fly myself around."

Sam grinned at that. She, too, was a pilot. "Ask. Couldn't hurt."

John nodded again, not that he really believed anyone was just going to give him a plane or jet to fly around on the USAF's dime. "When can I leave?" he asked, getting back on topic.

"As soon as you're ready. Get together with Lorne to make arrangements to hand over command, and you can Gate home when you're packed if you want – though it will be early evening by SGC's clock." Sam said, glancing at her watch. It was still difficult, even after all these years, to get used to the different time schedules of whatever planet she was on versus the Earth-time she was born to. "You won't be flying out for at least 24 hours."

"Right, well, I still want to get there ASAP, Colonel. I'll go talk to Lorne right now and let you know." Stopping at the door, Sheppard looked back over his shoulder. "And um, thanks…for, you know…understanding."

Watching him walk away with purpose and determination, Sam smiled sadly to herself. He'd had an especially hard few months, personally, on top of the usual Pegasus Galaxy chaos. His father died, there was that business with the Replicators that got loose on Earth at the same time, and then there was having to help Rodney find his sister when Henry Wallace had kidnapped her (and later Rodney, himself). Before all that, they'd lost Elizabeth, and then Kate Heightmeyer, the expedition's resident psychologist. Sam wondered if this would be the straw that broke the camel for him.

She had only had a few months to get to know him personally, but from all she'd read in his file, she knew he was one of those poor souls who seemed to get shafted in every way possible no matter what he tried to do or say. He was a genuine, good man – strong and steady. He was loyal and reliable. And he was a true warrior. It was unfortunate that the military didn't always think such traits translated into "good soldier." Sam knew he'd suffered for that, and she could only be grateful that he'd survived long enough to sit in that Ancient chair and make their technology live again. It brought him here, to Atlantis, and she suspected that here he'd come to life as surely as he'd made the city wake from 10,000 years of slumber.

Sighing, Sam had just opened her laptop again when Rodney's voice sounded in her ear, full of purpose, concern, and impatience. She still wasn't used to how much he'd changed since the days at the SGC where he'd truly annoyed her and stepped on her academic toes without consideration.

"Sam, come in."

"Yes, Rodney?" She responded calmly, thinking some drama amongst the scientists was about to become her problem.

"Does he know?" Obviously he assumed she was telepathic.

"What? Who?"

"Sheppard! Have you spoken to him yet?" Impatience again. Trying not to snap the man's head off, Sam closed her eyes and sighed loudly.

"Yes, I have, and we'll be having a discussion, _McKay_, at some point in the future about the meaning of 'eyes only.' Right now I'm going to assume you're about to request leave to return to Earth to assist Sheppard?" Sam called up the appropriate forms and began filling them in, giving her approval to each one – three, including Teyla and Ronon.

"Uh, well, yes. As a matter of fact." He responded sounding like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar. Much more meekly, he continued, "Feel free to ream me out later. I saw what's in the files, but I wanted to know if there was more that's relevant because he isn't likely to tell me – _us_ – himself."

Sam heard the words Rodney wasn't saying and the emotion in his tone that spoke even louder. He was worried, genuinely, for his friend - something he didn't have many of and therefore carefully protected as even more precious to him than anything else. If there was one thing she'd learned of the Canadian in the last few months, it was that the abrasive, annoying attitude was a thin shell around the real Rodney McKay. He truly had a deeply loyal and big heart under the bluster.

"Sam? Oh god, there is, isn't there? What is it? I can handle it!"

Pulling her mind back to the conversation, Sam hastily replied, "No, Rodney. There's nothing I'm aware of. The SGC didn't send all the details, I'm sure, but you'll find out when you get there."

"Okay, right. Well, then, I'll tell Teyla and Ronon to pack, and let Zelenka know he's in charge for a while." There was a slightly gleeful tone to that, which made Sam bite back a grin. Those two played off one another so completely – in the best of ways – that she'd never worried about any dramas from that direction. Elizabeth had also pointed out how well they worked together many times in her reports and personal notes. Zelenka was quick to temper, but equally quick to forgive and push forward, something Rodney really needed in both his friends and his second-in-command. It didn't hurt that the Czech scientist was intelligent enough to keep up with McKay, if not equal him. And as friends and respected colleagues, a little good-natured ribbing was to be expected, so knowing how Radek liked being 'in charge,' Rodney was going to delight in making him be so while he was away.

"You probably have half an hour, McKay." Sam cautioned, finishing the forms and emailing them directly to him. "If you're not in the Gateroom he'll probably leave without you, and I can only stall for so long."

"Yes, yes, I know. We'll be there."

"Good. I've sent you the forms, Rodney, so get Teyla and Ronon to sign theirs and send them back, and you're all cleared to leave. Oh, and Rodney?"

"What?"

"Take good care of Sheppard, alright? I don't know how he's truly handling this situation, and he doesn't have time to be made to see someone for grief counselling."

"Of course we will! We always do. Don't worry, Sam, because he'll be fine. He always is." Rodney sounded so sure of that, but Sam as sceptical. A person could only take so much before they either bent or broke. Though she, too, had the weight of experience and loss on her shoulders, she had her team – her family – to support her and to lean on at the worst of times, and she'd _allowed_ herself that comfort. John Sheppard, however, was the lone wolf-type, rarely seeking out support from others when it came to his personal demons.

"I hope you're right, Rodney. I'm just…being cautious. Atlantis needs him. The people, here, need him. Even you. So just…"

"Sam." Rodney's voice turned quiet and uncharacteristically reassuring. "I know. Probably better than you do. And I'm saying _don't worry_. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Gotta go. McKay out."

* * *

John was packed and ready to go inside of twenty minutes. Passing command to Lorne was relatively simple since there didn't need to be much paperwork for it – and even that was all electronic these days (at least it was here in Atlantis). Tablet PCs and PDAs were the greatest inventions ever.

Heading for the control room to get Chuck to dial Earth John felt a small twinge of regret and guilt for not telling his team what happened or saying goodbye before he left, but this was his problem. Not theirs. And they were needed here, couldn't just leave for an unknown amount of time when all kinds of crises and emergencies could happen and they were needed to save the day. Especially McKay. If John dragged him back to Earth so soon after the incident with his sister and the nanites, Rodney would be unbearable with the bitching and the complaining about all the things that broke down, were broken, or left undone by his staff in his absence. Let alone any of those aforementioned crises.

Or at least that was John's excuse and he was going to stick to it.

Chuck, the other Canadian on the expedition and their Gate-tech, appeared to be busily working on something in the control room at one of the consoles. The other techs on duty also appeared industrious, and while John would normally be curious about it, he just wanted to go.

"Dial Earth, Chuck, if you would." He requested politely as he passed by on his way to the stairs.

"Oh! Col. Sheppard. It'll be a few minutes, sir. We're just running a quick diagnosis." Chuck gave him a very apologetic glance. "It shouldn't take long."

Fighting off his impatience, John quirked an eyebrow. "Problem?"

"We don't think so. Just some noticeable fluctuations in the power output readings. Col. Carter said to run a diagnostic to be certain before you attempted to go through."

"I see. I'll be down there." John pointed down at the Gateroom below. "Let me know when you're good to go." He hefted his bag and went down to the main floor. As much as he wanted to get going, he wasn't about to argue when there could be a problem that would jeopardize his chances at arriving at the SGC – alive and in one piece. So he sat at the bottom of the grand staircase to wait as patiently as possible.

Up in the control room, Carter came out of her office to join Chuck at the DHD console. "You were able to stall him, Chuck?"

"Yes, ma'am. But not for long, I don't think." The tech replied, sadly. Carter had informed him of the Lt. Colonel's departure and part of the reason for it, and she had asked him to help her stall if McKay, Teyla, and Ronon were late.

Sam nodded, patting him on the shoulder. "Thanks." Reaching for her ear, she called Rodney urgently. "McKay, come in. What's your status?"

"Oh for…we're on our way! Radek! I have to go! Seriously, this isn't your first time in charge!" Rodney's exasperation was palpable. "Sorry…Sam. Teyla, Ronan, and I are at the transporter and heading for the Gate."

"Good. See you all when you get back. And good luck, McKay."

"Yeah, thanks."

Sam sighed and gave it a couple extra minutes, until she could hear Rodney's voice – still in argument with Radek – from the Gateroom below. "Alright, Chuck, dial it."

"Yes, ma'am!"

John looked up as the Gate started up. He could just see Chuck, who gave him a thumbs up to signal that he had a go. Relieved, John stood and picked up his bag.

To his surprise, his team suddenly walked into the room. They were all carrying bags of their own, and Rodney was dressed in civilian clothes rather than his uniform. The scientist was also waving off a more-harried-than-usual looking Radek.

"Just carry on like I was here, Radek! You'll all be wonderfully productive and the city will remain intact by the time I return. Now, shoo!"

John watched them approach in consternation (he would never admit to relief), and pinned the likely culprit. "McKay..."

Rodney made a face at the unhappy growl of his name. "Oh don't even try and pretend you're not happy to have us along, Sheppard. And why, pray tell, were you intending to go running off on a potentially dangerous mission without your team? You don't expect us to let you. Not without back-up!"

"We will assist you, John." Teyla stated softly, but firmly, in that way she had that said she'd made a decision and that was final. "We will be honoured to do so."

John looked coolly from one to the other, then up at Ronon. The big guy shrugged, folding his arms over his chest and looking as immovable as the proverbial mountain.

"What they said."

The Gate burst open behind them and John heaved a sigh of surrender. "Alright, alright. Fine. Let's go." He walked toward the shimmering event horizon, Rodney falling into step at his side, Teyla and Ronon just behind them. Just before they stepped through, John said in a voice meant for Rodney, "However, you and I are going to have a chat about privacy, McKay."

To Rodney's credit, he winced and didn't refute that.

* * *

On the other side, welcomed by the concrete grey walls of the SGC, they were met by General Hank Landry and Chief Master Sergeant Walter Harriman. Landry whisked John off to his office to discuss all those obscure military things Rodney could care less about – after promising Rodney they weren't going to talk about the current situation without the rest of the team (at Rodney's vociferous insistence). Walter – aka "Chief" – told Rodney that Dr. Jackson was in his lab waiting for them, so Rodney led Teyla and Ronon to the infamous and immanent archaeologist's domain on Level 18.

During the elevator trip, he noticed Teyla looking around with open curiosity at nearly everything she saw, while Ronon remained his silent, stoic self. With that came the realization that this was the Athosian's first journey to Earth and the Milky Way galaxy (the trip courtesy of that sentient mist of M5S-224 that they'd encountered during their first year in Pegasus didn't count).

"Oh! Teyla, I'm so sorry!" Rodney, not usually the type, blurted an apology to his teammate in the manner of a host who'd neglected his duties. "I've dragged you here without any sort of background on what to expect!" Oddly enough, he _did_ feel bad about that, maybe because he'd long since come to trust and respect her, even care for her.

Surprised, Teyla looked at him with a small, concerned smile. "Rodney? What do you mean? You have nothing to apologize for."

"Yes, I do! I should have…I don't know…explained what sorts of things you're likely to see and experience, and…" an expression of panic crossed McKay's face as he babbled on, "Oh no! We need to get you clothes! I mean, not that what you're wearing isn't fine or that it looks bad, but…"

"Rodney!" Teyla cut him off as the elevator opened and they stepped out. "It's alright. I understand what you meant. Please." She laid a hand on his shoulder and patted him reassuringly. "After the last few years I have spent in the company of yourself and John, as well as everyone else on Atlantis, I feel I know enough of your home not to appear too strange to those who do not know of the universe beyond. I meant to ask about clothing at a more appropriate moment."

"Oh! Right. Yes, of course you do." Rodney relaxed, feeling a little embarrassed not to have thought of that. "I just…you know, it's up to me to look after you, here, and…"

"Why?" Ronon asked bluntly. "Teyla's perfectly capable of taking care of herself."

"Because!" Rodney flushed, hands waving about expressively. "I'm not saying she's not capable – you're not capable – at all! It's just that…"

"…John would normally be the one to make sure we are prepared, that we have the knowledge of our surroundings and situations, but he is otherwise…occupied. And as Rodney is also from this planet, he feels it is his responsibility to see to these things in the Colonel's place." Teyla finished explaining, understanding the scientist completely. "Thank you, Rodney. I – and Ronon, also – appreciate what you're trying to do. Please do not worry. We will follow your lead without fear on this mission." She gave Ronon a side-glance that Rodney missed.

The Satedan grunted. "This time. And you know, McKay, you're not the only one concerned about Sheppard, so stop trying so hard."

"Ronon." Teyla chided, patting Rodney again. "He knows that."

Rodney stepped up to the big man, bravely raising his chin in defiance. "I'm no John Sheppard, as I've had pointed out to me enough over the last few years. I am acutely aware of that fact, even if I hadn't already figured that out for myself a long time ago. I'm not a diplomat, with the right words at the right moment. I have little in the charm and good-looks department. And I'm no soldier. But I'm not stupid, and while it may be my only redeeming quality, I hope it's enough for you to at least listen to me on occasion and maybe even take orders from me just this once. Because I know John better than you or anyone else might believe I do. And it may occur that he'll give an order that I will contradict on this particular mission. I just want to be ready for that possibility."

Teyla frowned. "Do you mean that he would order us to do something he normally would not?"

"Maybe." Rodney crossed his arms stubbornly. "I've seen what happens when he stops thinking with his head and follows his heart alone. It's very probable that if he ends up in a situation where his emotion finally overtakes his reason, he won't stop and think of the consequences." His eyes bored into Ronon's unflinchingly. "We're all willing to follow him anywhere he leads, but this time…this time he may make decisions outside of his reason."

Teyla and Ronon exchanged glances. "Rodney, do you believe he shouldn't be taking on this investigation?" She asked carefully in a low voice. Thankfully, the hallways were empty at the moment. "Is he unfit for duty?"

Rodney sighed. "I don't know. I don't know enough of the background to the situation to be able to say one way or the other, only what I've gathered from the data in the files sent to Sam. I don't entirely know how this will affect him, but I would rather be prepared than caught with our pants down, so to speak." Suddenly feeling very tired, Rodney leaned back against the wall. "If he is unfit for duty. I don't think General Landry or General O'Neill would have agreed to let him come back and investigate like this."

"Unless they think he'd go off on his own." Ronon pointed out. "It's better for them if he's kept on a leash than to be let loose."

Rodney shuddered. Ronon had a point. And he knew Sheppard had a dark streak in him – ruthless, cold, efficient. Adding grief and a burning anger to that and an unleashed John Sheppard was a scarier nightmare than even the Wraith.

"What do we do, then?" Teyla wondered. "We cannot force him to talk about anything, nor can we forbid him to seek out these criminals."

"We do what we always do, Teyla. And we keep an eye on him. Should that possibility come up, then we do what's best for _him_, whether he likes it or not. Agreed?"

"Yes. I suppose you are correct that it is all we can do." Teyla nodded. "Ronon?"

"I agree."

Rodney nodded. "Good. And thanks."

"Should we not go? Was Dr. Jackson waiting for us?" Teyla reminded them.

"Right! This way." The astrophysicist pushed off the wall and led them through the corridors.

* * *

The first thing they heard from Daniel Jackson's lab through the open door was said scholar's exasperated – yet fond – voice speaking to someone.

"No, Jack, you may _not_ name the newest ships after _any_ of the Star Trek ones. Why? Because it's cliché and we _all_ know how much you like those. No! Not the Millennium Falcon, or any other Star Wars ships, either! Okay, yes, I'm getting tired of the running 'Greek myth' theme, but there's a lot of cultural references that could…no, not the Egyptian ones. What are we? Goa'uld?"

Daniel looked up as he said that with heavy sarcasm and an eye-roll to match, just as the three walked in. The archaeologist smiled in welcome and gestured for them to come in.

"The Greek stuff is somewhat better than what some of the ones the Ancients came up with." Rodney muttered within Daniel's hearing, thinking of the one they'd found on the Taranian's super-volcano planet that was named for some Ancient General with an unpronounceable name. Hippo…something or other.

Daniel made a face, cutting of whatever O'Neill was saying, "Look, we have _months_ to figure that out, Jack. I'll make a list of appropriate names and you can pick one, alright?" He sighed. "No, not after you. Sam blew the last one up, remember? So what if Thor liked you! _My_ namesake lived longer than _yours_. Oh for…we're not five and I'm not arguing with you about it. Now, I have to go. What? Yes, they're here." He covered the phone with his free hand and said to the group, "Jack says 'hi, and welcome back.'" Then he spoke into the handset again. "Can I go now, or are you going to keep making me be rude? Okay. Yes, we will. See you tomorrow." A faint flush highlighted his face and neck for a moment, before he squawked, "_**Jack!**_ Yeah, _ditto_, okay? Ass!" before hanging up on what sounded suspiciously like laughter.

Clearing his throat and trying to maintain his dignity, Daniel got up and came around his desk. "So, hey, guys! Sorry about that. It's good to see you all again." He shook hands with Rodney and Ronon, and – consummate scholar of culture and people that he was – remembered and offered Teyla the greeting of his people, lightly touching his forehead to hers. She smiled at him, pleased.

"It is very good to see you once more, Dr. Jackson. We heard of your ultimate success with the Ori and their followers from Col. Carter."

"It's 'Daniel,' please. Yeah, we finally managed to put an end to all that."

"You wanted to see us?" Rodney interjected, giving the scholar a questioning stare.

"Sure." Daniel motioned for them to follow him. "I figured you'd have nothing to do while you waited for Col. Sheppard to be done in General Landry's office, so I thought I'd invite you to join me in the commissary for coffee, and catch up on life here and in Pegasus." He headed for the elevator, smiling wistfully as they waited. "I bet you've made all kinds of new discoveries since we stopped by to use the database last year."

"Don't you get the news-worthy stuff in the data-streams?" Rodney asked, surprised. He thought Daniel, of all people, would pour over the information exchanged daily, what with his acute interest in the Ancients.

"Well, yes. But it's not the same as having face-to-face discussions."

"Ah." Okay. Rodney could understand that a little.

Over desserts and coffee (and green tea for Teyla), they sat in the commissary sharing tales of adventures and new discoveries. For Rodney, it was a bit of a relief to be able to not think about why they were there in the first place, and with Daniel he could discuss his theories and work and not be worried about criticism or having any of it ripped apart as he would with any of his colleagues. The best part was that Daniel was actually smart enough to mostly understand it all, even if he wasn't an astrophysicist and couldn't calculate the complex mathematics behind it. He understood the concepts, the theories, and Rodney's explanations, and that was enough to endear Daniel to Rodney – someone who had great difficulty relating to people in general even without the gaping chasm between intellects. Rodney couldn't even discuss these things with Radek in this way.

When Teyla asked Daniel how he'd come to figure out the significance of the eight-symbol address that ultimately led them to Atlantis and the Pegasus galaxy, Rodney had an epiphany. The reason he got along so well with Daniel, and had little of the problems he normally had with interpersonal relationships, was because Daniel saw the universe in much the same way Rodney always had. Despite their polar opposite fields of study and expertise, they both solved the universe's mysteries from the same perspective: outside the proverbial box, whereas most others tried and struggled to do so by making the universe fit inside the box according to their understanding. Daniel's explanation of the eighth symbol was a case in point, and Rodney clearly remembered that day over four years ago when Daniel excitedly pointed out the mistake they'd been making all along to Rodney, Elizabeth, and later General O'Neill – that they were not mistaking a symbol in the address…they were _missing_ a symbol.

Right then and there, even if no one else could fully see the implications, Rodney did and he saw the mathematics fall neatly into place. _I backed Daniel's discovery right from the start._ He congratulated himself smugly. And he'd been right to, when even the golden girl of the SGC, Sam Carter, had wavered away from it at first. For all the wisdom he still credited her with on top of her intelligence, he saw how unwilling she'd been to look outside the norm and just believe; this was why he got along better with Daniel then he ever did with Sam, and though it hurt to know she was his equal in every way but this, it had only hurt for a moment because it was that area that Rodney felt was probably the most important of all if he was to ever be in a relationship with someone. Since that equality wasn't there, it wasn't so hard to finally set aside any serious intent to pursue such a relationship with Sam – not that he didn't still daydream or anything.

Getting up, Rodney went to have the coffee decanter refilled for himself and Daniel. While waiting patiently, feeling oddly relaxed for the caffeine in his system, he glanced over at the doors as they swung open and Sheppard walked in. Outwardly, the officer appeared to be his usual self, with no signs of his impatience or restlessness showing in his casual, pseudo-lazy stroll to where he spotted Teyla and Ronon, or in the oh-so-relaxed sprawl as he slouched in the seat Ronon pulled over for him to join them at the table. But Rodney could see the tension in the hard set of his shoulders, the dark lights of his hazel eyes that seemed more green in this harsh lighting. Rodney watched him a moment longer, startled when the kitchen staff-person said his name.

"Dr. McKay…your coffee, sir."

"Ack! What? Oh. Yes, thank you. Um, could I get a clean mug and maybe a turkey sandwich for Col. Sheppard?" He managed to ask politely, taking the coffee decanter from the woman. He saw her look over his shoulder to Sheppard, then smile in a rather matronly way before nodding.

"Give me a minute, son. It won't take but a moment."

True to her word, she was back in under five minutes with the sandwich, fries, and even garnished with pickles. Handing Rodney the plate and a mug that was still warm from the dishwasher, she gave him a bright smile and sent him warily back to the table.

Since it would never do to allow Sheppard to think he actually cared, Rodney schooled his features to reflect a vague annoyance, as if bringing the food was some great chore.

"Here." He clunked the heavy plate down on the table in front of Sheppard, then the mug which he filled with coffee. "Eat that." He commanded like Sheppard was the subordinate officer and it was an order. John gave him a startled, strange look, which Rodney ignored as he moved to sit down again across from Daniel. He was refilling their mugs when John finally thought of something to say.

"Uh, Rodney, not that I don't appreciate the gesture, but we just ate supper a couple of hours ago." Nonetheless, the man picked up a fry and nibbled on it, as if he just couldn't resist.

"Ha! You hardly ate anything – don't think I didn't notice! – and you gave _me_ your dessert." Rodney scowled at him. "I heard Keller nagging you about your weight again, too. Your metabolism is so freakishly fast, it's revolting. So shut up and eat that turkey sandwich. You'll need all the calories you can get."

Teyla hid a smile behind her teacup while Ronon eyed-up the plate like he was considering eating it himself. Daniel wisely kept silent and straight-faced, and merely reached for his coffee. John, finding no help from any of them, scowled right back at Rodney, drawling in a deceptively friendly voice, "What? You're my mother now, McKay? It's just another thing you and I need to have a little chat about – eavesdropping and hacking personal files." The fact that he was obediently eating the fries and pickles (absentmindedly, no doubt) didn't really help the threatening glare he sent Rodney's way.

"Whatever. You'd have run off without us if I hadn't, and then we would have had to come rescue you anyway from whatever mess you got yourself into. And if you won't look after yourself, then the rest of us will. So deal with it. Besides!" Rodney exclaimed, sitting back in his chair and looking very pleased with himself, "I would think you'd be eager to eat whatever you can't get back home while you're here." He sighed and looked scarily dreamy for a moment. "I really miss pizza for some reason…"

John, who truthfully wasn't that hungry, picked up half the sandwich and took a huge bite, chewing and glowering petulantly at his friend, as if to say, "There! Are you happy now?"

If anyone found the exchange strange, they wisely kept silent.

"Have you concluded your business with the General, John?" Teyla inquired, turning the topic away neatly.

"Yeah." Sheppard swallowed and picked up a pickle, studying it while speaking. "Nothing dire to be worried about, don't worry."

"That is good."

"Like we need anything _more_." Rodney grumbled, stealing a fry off John's plate – and receiving a glare from both John and Ronon. "Hey, Daniel, what time are we flying to DC tomorrow, anyway? Do you know?" Internally, he winced and kicked himself as John's expression shuttered into bland neutrality. For a moment, however brief, he'd forgotten his grief and anger.

"Fly?" Daniel questioned, blinking rapidly behind his glasses.

"As in airplane." Rodney raised an eyebrow, questioning Daniel's intelligence. "Sam said we'd fly to D.C. in the morning, get briefed, and then the funeral's the day after tomorrow."

"Oh. Well, we shouldn't need to fly. Last I heard, General Landry recalled _Odyssey_ from her mission to assist us in the investigation." Daniel sipped his coffee with a shrug. "Mitchell will push the engines to get back in time, so unless something goes wrong, they'll be here in time."

"We?" Sheppard echoed, the slouch straightening slightly as he tensed at the implication of interference in his investigation. "And I thought _Odyssey_ was tasked to be checking on our allies now that the Priors and all were gone."

"We – as in the four of you, myself, and Jack in the background gleefully pulling strings and kicking bureaucratic asses for us along the way." Daniel smiled, with both a hint of apology and reassurance. "No NID on this one, thank god. Or IOA."

"I was going to ask about that." Rodney said, looking pleased the two agencies weren't getting involved.

"NID is focused on the Trust and the Baal clones. They're so swamped and undermanned they have no one to spare to deal with this – especially as it's unconfirmed that it even has anything to do with the programme – outside of the family connection to you, of course, Colonel." Daniel sighed at his now empty coffee mug. "As for the IOA, they aren't investigators. At least, not this kind of criminal activity that we're dealing with, so…not involved."

John relaxed fractionally. Not that he had anything against the agent who had helped to find Rodney and his sister a few months back when Henry Wallace kidnapped them, but John would much rather rely on his own team – and the infamous SG-1 – than any outside entities. And he wouldn't even _start_ on the IOA.

"And _Odyssey_?" Ronon reminded them.

"Oh yeah. The repairs were completed two weeks ago. She was sent off on a test mission to check on some of our allies after the whole Ori thing. Along the way they're testing systems and the repairs, running drills, that sort of thing." Daniel grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Mitchell has – more or less – been given command of her, and since she's basically the ship SG-1 utilizes for our own missions, you could say the flagship team actually has a ship now." He chuckled to himself, thinking of how pained Cam's face had been at the thought of the dreaded Chair (as in the Commander's seat), even though the pilot looked like he was born in that chair whenever he occupied it. "Anyway, Mitchell will help us out from the ship in orbit – Vala, too, if she's still on board. She may have decided to go with Teal'c to investigate leads on more Baal clones, or the snake himself."

"Well, we can't complain about having that sort of backup." John nodded slowly. "Thanks for that."

"Thank Jack. He's the one scheming and plotting." Daniel made a face, but his surreal blue eyes twinkled. "It's one of his favourite things to do."

"So why are you not out with your team?" Ronon wanted to know. "And why are you being asked to help us investigate?"

"I'm supposed to be on leave, actually." Daniel shrugged, sounding as if it was a waste of time, really. "Vacation time. I was spending it in D.C. with Jack, since I really had nothing else to do and he gets lonely." He paused, suddenly realizing what he just said, and flushed. "Ahhh…don't ever tell him I said that. Please."

"They pulled you off your leave? They shouldn't have done that." John frowned, feeling badly about that, since he knew how precious free time was in their jobs.

"Oh no. Don't worry about it. Really!" Daniel assured him with a small smile. "To be honest, I was going a little stir crazy. I don't do idle very well. And to be honest, there's no one better to help you with this since Sam's in Atlantis and Jack can't go out in the field – so to speak – anymore. If we find those documents, I'll be able to read most any language they're written in, as well as know what they're about, since the files in question were from our early days in the SGC."

"I see." Ronon nodded his understanding.

Teyla tilted her head in agreement. "It will be good to work with you, Daniel. We have heard many wonderful things about you from Col. Carter, and from Rodney – though he likely will deny it." She gave a little grin and a side-glance at the scientist who sputtered and flushed and looked belligerently at them all, daring them to make a comment.

"What? I can't state my appreciation for the work of others when it's truly worthy of it?"

"You can. You just don't." Ronon bared his teeth in something that was probably supposed to be a smile but seemed a little more…wild. Rodney, unfazed – or maybe just used to it – glared darkly at him.

"Okay, children. Don't make me put you in the corner." Sheppard nudged Rodney in the ribs and gave Ronon a look. "Quit baiting each other. Rodney can be nice. When he wants to be."

"Oh thank you so much for the support." Rodney's voice was at its sarcastic best. "Anyway…it's great we don't have to worry about flight times, because now we'll have time to go shopping!" Rodney pushed his mug aside, deciding he'd had enough coffee for now. At Daniel's inquisitive stare, he elaborated, "Teyla needs a few new changes of wardrobe. Unfortunately, the Athosian-wear isn't 'in' for covert alien agents this year."

"Oh! Of course. I hadn't even thought…okay, I know someone who can help. I hope." Daniel got up abruptly, waving and talking over his shoulder. "Stay! I'll be right back."

John sighed. "I'm sorry, Teyla. I should have thought of it, myself. Ronon's got his Earth clothes from the last couple trips, but this is your first time here."

"It is. But there is no reason for you to apologize, John. It would be taken care of, I'm sure." She reached across the table and patted his arm. "Besides, Rodney was kind enough to assure me he would see to the problem, and he has. You have more pressing concerns than my clothing."

"Still…" the officer protested, feeling guilty about neglecting his responsibilities.

"Let it go, Sheppard." Ronon advised, "You'll never win the argument, anyway."

After some time spent in companionable silence, Daniel returned with a pretty young woman in tow. He introduced her as Dr. Carolyn Lam, the SGC's CMO and General Landry's own daughter. Once he'd made the introduction of the Atlantean team, Daniel pulled up another chair for the doctor to join them. She was dressed in her civilian clothes and jacket, as if she'd just been leaving after her shift.

"It's a pleasure to meet all of you. I'm sorry I wasn't available when you arrived for your medical checks." Carolyn looked around at each of them, and noticed their surprised and sheepish expressions. "Oh dear…you didn't get them?"

"Ah…I'll take them as soon as we're done here." Daniel hastily offered.

"The General sort of pounced on me as soon as we got here, so…" John explained, kicking himself for another missed responsibility. It was protocol for anyone coming or going through the Gate to pass a medical exam, and he'd forgotten. On the other hand, so had General Landry, apparently.

Carolyn rolled her eyes at that, but nodded. "It's alright. I doubt any of you are bringing anything nasty with you from Pegasus, but do get checked before you leave the base." She looked at Daniel. "Dr. Warner is on duty tonight, so he'll take care of it."

"Sure."

"Anyway, Daniel explained that you're in need of some appropriate Earth clothes to wear during your stay here, Ms. Emmagan"

"Teyla, please."

"Teyla… Since all these boys are so clueless when it comes to selecting and buying women's attire…" Carolyn grinned when none of the men refuted the statement, "I'd be happy to help. Just one thing: who's footing the bill?"

"I will." Both John and Rodney stated firmly. They looked at each other in surprise.

"Rodney?"

"What? It's not like they haven't been paying me all this time. And all I've purchased in the last four years was the Prius for Jeannie." He crossed his arms defensively, scowling at everyone in general. "Anyway, it's a necessary expenditure that will not go to waste – and you already outfitted Ronon."

Teyla smiled fondly at him. "Thank you, Rodney. It is most generous of you to offer."

Ronon grunted, frowning. He wasn't looking forward to being in his Earth clothes again. He'd found the clothing to be quite restrictive to his movements – a bad thing in a fight (even though the materials were very fine and the clothes well made). And he couldn't hide as many of his knives as he would prefer.

John was still looking surprised at Rodney's apparent generosity. "We'll compromise, McKay. One of us can buy the clothing items, the other can buy the accessories."

"Accessories?" Rodney's puzzlement was strangely endearing. He really was clueless when it came to women, poor guy.

"Women have accessories, Rodney." John pointed at Carolyn's ears and neckline. "Earrings, necklaces, maybe a watch, pendants, rings, bracelets…"

"Okay, okay, I get it. Sheesh. Fine! I'll get the clothes, you get the extras." Rodney decided, waving it aside dismissively. "Either way, we have to go tomorrow morning, Dr. Lam, so I hope that is acceptable for you."

"It should be. They'll call if an emergency pops up and I'm needed." Carolyn agreed, amused by their banter. She gave Daniel a side-glance. It reminded her of his usual by-play with a certain General… "Stores don't open until 0900-0930, so shall we meet up on the surface at 0900 hours?"

"I will be there."

"We will be there." Rodney corrected, pushing away from the table. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm really tired."

"It has been a long day." Teyla agreed, also rising from her seat.

"I'll show you all to the quarters we managed to find for your tonight." Daniel said. "And thanks, Carolyn, for taking the time to help these guys out."

"My pleasure! See you in the morning, and don't forget to stop by the infirmary!" Dr. Lam split away from the group, leaving Daniel to show them where they were ensconced within the SGC – right after following the doctor's orders and getting them their medical checks.

* * *

They ended up sharing close quarters that night. Daniel had apologized profusely for the lack of available places to sleep. He explained that not only was all the base housing full because of the most recent wave of new SGC recruits, but there were also most of the team leaders and their teams on base, also, because of the recruits. Then, too, some of the new personnel being sent to Atlantis on the next trip via the _Daedalus_ when it returned were beginning to trickle in, needing some minimal training of their own before they ended up in another galaxy. All in all, the senior housing, civilian housing, and even the VIP suites were crammed to capacity. Even Daniel, if he hadn't already had his own personal living quarters in the Mountain (as did Teal'c and Vala MalDoran, his two alien teammates), would have been out of luck and in town at a hotel somewhere.

As it was, Daniel put Teyla in Vala's quarters (knowing the feisty ex-thief wouldn't mind), Ronon in Mitchell's (Cam's, luckily, hadn't yet been loaned out to one of the other officers in his absence), and John and Rodney in the only VIP room left unoccupied on base – and then only because they both refused to take Daniel up on his offer of his own quarters, stating that he'd sleep on the cot set up in the little room off his lab where he normally crashed when he was working too frantically on something and didn't want to even go as far as his quarters.

"We're not kicking you out of your own bed." John protested adamantly. "It's only for a night, and it isn't like we haven't shared a tent or bed off-world before. Right, McKay?" he nudged Rodney none-too-gently in the side, prompting his agreement.

"Yes, that's right." Rodney said after a moment's hesitation. It wasn't that he minded sharing with Sheppard, it was that he was unsure of his welcome in close proximity when he thought the officer would prefer some time alone with his grief. But Rodney didn't know how to say that without it coming out wrong and probably totally screwing everything up with John. "We'll be fine, Daniel. Thanks for the offer, though."

"Well..if you're sure." The linguist scratched at his nose and shrugged. "Okay, then I'll see you all in the morning. 0830 for breakfast in the commissary?"

"Sounds good." Rodney agreed for them both as John just nodded and went into the room without another word. "Um…see you then."

"Good night, Rodney."

Closing the door behind himself, Rodney hesitated, watching Sheppard pull out his shaving kit from his bag. "Listen, if you'd rather be alone, I can go get a hotel room or something. I mean, I'm…"

"Rodney," John sighed wearily, locking tired hazel eyes on Rodney's sky blue ones with a slight smile. "It really is fine. Though I appreciate the sentiment, the truth is…" he looked away, fussing with his things self-consciously. It was so uncharacteristic of him that Rodney felt a pang in his chest. "…I don't really _want_ to be alone. I already feel like I am, and that's bad enough."

"Okay." What, really, could he say to that? Nothing. So Rodney dropped his bag of clothes on one chair at the table in one corner and set his laptop case on top of the table. "I can't promise to be Mr. Sensitive; I mean, you _know_ me, right? But I'll stay."

A fleeting, unexpectedly fond expression passed over John's face, and he nodded.

They took turns in the adjacent washroom, getting ready for bed. When Rodney came out dressed in his warmest pyjama pants and an old university t-shirt that was so faded one couldn't even read it anymore, John was already in bed under the covers, turned on his side with his back to the rest of the room and to Rodney. A small lamp was still on next to the bed, but otherwise it was quite dark and quiet. Not surprising, considering they were inside a mountain, with thick concrete walls meant to survive explosions and even earthquakes. Still, it kind of gave Rodney the creeps because he'd gotten very used to the almost subliminal hum of the city around him and in his mind, and the soothing sounds of the sea lapping against Atlantis as she floated calmly on its surface.

Trying to ignore it, Rodney shrugged and crawled into bed next to John, reaching for the lamp. "Need the light?" he asked in a moment of consideration.

"No. Go ahead." John's reply was sort of muffled, but Rodney got the gist of it. He switched off the lamp, plunging them into near total darkness, and wiggled down until he was comfortable.

For a few minutes there was silence, but of their soft breathing, and Rodney thought John had fallen asleep already. Then the bed quaked a bit as John moved, rolling onto his back, and a soft, "Hey," asked for his attention.

"Yeah?"

John's voice held a note of something incredibly vulnerable, an unnatural occurrence as far as Rodney was concerned. "Thanks. I'm…sorry I gave you a hard time about reading that email."

Rodney flipped over to face him, and kept his own voice low and soft. Maybe it was the darkness that allowed Sheppard to open up, but whatever it was, Rodney wasn't about to ruin it.

"There's nothing to thank me for, John. And…you're right about the email thing. I shouldn't have. You and Sam can ream me out about it all you like, and I won't complain." He paused. "Well, not too much."

"Don't ever change, buddy." The chuckle John gave sounded suspiciously wet.

"Why would I?"

There was another moment of silence, then, "I've never felt so alone before."

The admission made Rodney's chest ache. "You're not, though. You know that, right?"

"I thought so, but…why does it feel like this then?"

Rodney thought very carefully about what he said next, not wanting to just blurt out something that would completely shatter this moment. "I'm not exactly someone who can claim to understand the hows and whys behind our emotions, but…grief is something I've become more acquainted with in recent years." For a moment, he allowed himself to remember Carson Beckett, and Elizabeth Weir, and all the others he'd come to know and lose over the years in Atlantis so suddenly and tragically. "I've never cared for as many other people as I have since going to Atlantis, and those I've lost in the past were never…I mean, I didn't really… They didn't hold the same importance to me as our people do now. Not even my parents. In fact, the only relative I had that I actually _liked_ was my sister – at least until she went and married an English professor." He still couldn't help the scoff in his tone at Kaleb Miller's chosen area of scholarship, though it didn't hold the same dislike and total scorn it once did. "My point is…I know what it is to feel alone. I've spent most of my life very much alone. And then we're in another galaxy, with people who not only seem to actually _want_ me around but that I actually want to _be_ around. Needless to say, I got used to not being so alone anymore. But losing even one person brought that sense of aloneness back again, and even though I knew up in my head that it wasn't so, it didn't stop the rest of me from feeling that way.

"I guess what I'm not saying so well is that you feel like this because…maybe Jenny was just that much more important to you than people you've only known for a couple years? Not to say that we all aren't equally important to you in different ways, just that…well, she's family. And from what I read in the file, she was kind of like your champion or benefactor, too. Grief just is, John. There's no degree of more or less about it." Rodney decided he'd babbled enough and clunked his mouth shut. He waited, hoping John was just absorbing all that and not taking offense somehow, by his silence.

"Is it…is it kind of like how you were feeling when Jeannie was infected with those nanites?" the other man asked tentatively, as if he wasn't sure he was allowed to ask such a personal question.

"Well…yeah. When I made the decision to offer myself to the Wraith to feed on so we could save her, I figured it was better me than her, and that if she died I probably would go a little crazy with grief. I mean, I was already crazy, 'cause what the hell was I thinking? Offering myself as a Wraith to-go special? But if Jeannie died, then I'd probably have lost whatever was left of my superior intellect." Rodney frowned into the darkness, shivering at the memory of that. "Did I ever thank you properly for not letting me do that?"

"In your own way, yes." John reassured him, and there was a little bit of a smile in his voice now. Rodney silently congratulated himself for that. "And…I know you're not diminishing anyone's importance with what you said. I think I get what you're trying to say."

"Really? Good, because I wasn't too sure even I was following myself for a while." Now it was Rodney's turn to stay quiet for a little while, before tentatively asking, "Will you tell me about her? Not, you know, right this second, if you don't want, but whenever you feel like it? You…you don't really let people into your life so easily, and from what I read, she seemed to be someone who helped to make you _you_, if you know what I mean, and I'd…I guess I'd like to know someone who was capable of that."

He nearly jumped out of his skin at the touch of a large, heavy hand dropping onto his shoulder clumsily in the dark. John patted him lightly before withdrawing his hand and sighed. "That's…really nice, Rodney. Maybe, yeah, but…not tonight. I'm just…it's too soon."

"Of course! Of course!" Rodney was quick to assure him. "You know, whenever you're ready. I just want you to know you can talk to me, if you need it, and that I want to hear whatever you need to say."

John made a humming noise and turned back over onto his side. Rodney took that to mean 'good night' so he closed his eyes and snuggled down under the covers a little more completely.

Just as he was dozing off, he heard John say, "Hey, Rodney?"

"Hm?"

"I know I don't let people in easily, and for that I'm sorry. I should be telling the people who mean something to me that…I care. I just don't because…"

"You're trying to protect yourself. I know." And Rodney did. He'd been there, too.

"Right." A deep breath, then, "So, Rodney, in the spirit of telling people…you know you're my best friend, right? That there's no one else as close to me as you?"

Shocked, Rodney very nearly sat bolt upright. Instead he stammered, "Y-you…really? Best friend? I mean…yeah. Other than Carson, I didn't have a good friend like you before, so…" He was pretty sure he was blushing furiously, because he could feel the heat in his face and the roar of blood in his ears. He wasn't about to add that his thoughts of John were way beyond the platonic friendship he had with Carson for very nearly as long as he'd known John. The good Scottish doctor had known of his infatuation – and the reasons Rodney had never pursued it – and he'd always been the one Rodney ran to when things went bad. Only now, of course, Carson was gone, and Rodney had no other buffer against the roiling, romantic inclinations that frequently got the better of him when it came to John Sheppard. He dealt with it as best he could, but every so often it would get to be too much and he had to lock himself in his quarters to explode and put himself back together again. Anything to avoid taking it out on John, or worse: telling him the truth and losing John altogether.

"Just so you know. Even when we're butting heads, and we're completely pissed off at each other."

"Yeah. Me too."

"Okay." John seemed to be satisfied with that, and the shakiness in his tone disappeared. "Good. 'Night, Rodney."

"Night, John."

Strangely enough, Rodney fell asleep and slept better that night than he had in weeks, even as his mind absorbed the revelation and his heart hoarded the warmth of it greedily.


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer:_ The author does not own any of NCIS or Stargate, only borrows them for the sake of this fanfiction. No profit is made by the writing of this story.

_Warnings:_ Anything one expects to see on Stargate or NCIS, expect it here; also, slash in the form of Jack/Daniel, and John/Rodney; het pairings include Tony/Ziva, Gibbs/Jenny.

_If you dislike such things, or are underage, do not read!_

_Big thanks for the beta, Rainy!_

**Chapter II**

Milky Way Galaxy – Earth  
Washington D.C., USA  
0230 hrs. ET

Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs, NCIS, stepped carefully down the steps to his basement sanctuary with the heavy footfalls of a weary man aching in both mind and body – but most of all in heart. Losing Jenny Sheppard had been a lot harder on him than he'd expected – perhaps because it came so unexpectedly sudden and violent. Whatever the reason, he would grieve for her as deeply as he had for the other losses in his life, albeit not so far as to teeter on the brink of insanity as he had with Shannon and Kelly. No…not this time. Jenny would surely bitch at him from beyond the grave if he did _that_. The thought actually made him smile a little as he walked over to his tool benches and reached up to the cupboard that held his whiskey stash – for just such an occasion. He poured a liberal helping into an empty, clean coffee mug, sighed, and proceeded to toss it back after a silent toast to Jenny's memory.

It had been a very long couple of days. He'd only just gotten home after seeing his old mentor, Mike Franks, off at the airport back to Mexico. He felt somewhat bad for burning down Jenny's home, with all her memories and possessions, but it was necessary. Staring at the wall and absently refilling his mug, he knew he could at least go to the funeral tomorrow knowing they'd finished what Jenny started – or rather, more correctly, what she'd left _un_finished nine years ago.

At the small scuffling sound of a running shoe on his cement floor from over in the darkened corner by the stairs, Gibbs sighed to himself again – this time resolutely – and emptied a container full of nails to pour another drink for his visitor.

"I'm thinking you could use a few shots of this more than I could, DiNozzo." He stated quietly, turning and holding out the make-shift glass. "So here."

"You do know how freaky it is when you do that, don't you boss?" Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, Gibbs' second-in-command, said in pained amazement as he stepped close and accepted the whiskey. He didn't even hesitate to toss it back with expert ease, despite not normally being a drinker of hard liquor (though he did gasp a bit as it burned a path down to his stomach). He held out the 'glass' silently asking for a refill, which Gibbs obliged in a rare moment of generosity. Well, he was feeling sorry for the guy, so that probably was what prompted it, where he normally had a BYOL policy – Bring Your Own Liquor. And after the week the man had, he was entitled to get a good drunk on.

Gibbs had gotten drunk for far less of an excuse.

Tony didn't drink all the whiskey this time, but he did take a big gulp of it. After shuddering at the burn going down, he sighed. "Thanks, boss."

Gibbs nodded and carefully sipped at his own. Nursing it became his new plan – he'd need all his faculties to deal with an emotional wreck named Anthony DiNozzo. "So you going to tell me why you're here and not at home getting some sleep, Tony?" he asked, watching the younger man unsteadily perch himself on a workhorse rather than stand up and sway as he kind of was before.

"Are _you_ gonna tell _me_ why you were at Jen-the Director's home and why Vance went hightailing it after you the minute he knew?" Tony was just tired, angry, and not sober enough to fire right back at Gibbs, for once. Under other circumstances, Gibbs might have been very proud of that. Right now? Not so much. And he'd noticed the quick catch of switching Jenny's name to her title.

"Nope. It has nothing to do with you or NCIS, DiNozzo. It was an old op from years and years ago that came back to bite her on the ass. That's all." Gibbs meant that as an 'I'm not telling you more,' and as a 'drop it, DiNozzo, and move on.' He could see a flurry of emotions pass over Tony's face – frustration, guilt, curiosity and intrigue at the hint of some top-secret mission. But Tony didn't ask, despite clearly dying to know. "You are allowed to use her name, Tony. It doesn't bother me. I know you got close to her during my…absence," he glossed over his short-term retirement, "and because you worked so closely with her on that undercover assignment." A touchy subject no one – even Gibbs – ever mentioned unless it was necessary, and even then only in the most oblique way possible.

"Maybe. But…I'm not you, boss." DiNozzo took another drink after holding Gibbs' eyes for a long moment. The older man acknowledged the knowing stare and all Tony _didn't_ say with a sharp nod before taking a drink of his own. Gazing down into his makeshift glass like it held the answers to life, he continued, "Besides, I think if we'd ever met under other circumstances, and didn't actually work together, we might have been friends. Good friends."

Gibbs nodded again. "I know, Tony. I also know she liked you as much as she respected you. She wouldn't have trusted you with everything she did, otherwise."

Tony smiled a little wryly. "Boss, she trusted me because she trusted _you_, and if you gave me your stamp of approval then that was enough for her."

Gibbs frowned a bit at that, but didn't deny it. This was something he'd noticed about a lot of the people in his life – they relied heavily on his ability to judge a person's character. A whole lot too much, in his opinion. He wasn't infallible, after all. "She did respect you and your ability as an agent, DiNozzo."

"Maybe." Tony shrugged it off. It didn't matter any longer, anyway.

"You haven't answered me." Gibbs reminded him, giving him the expectant stare that tended to make interviewees spill their guts immediately. Of course, Tony was a little too used to it and could hold out against it without much effort.

"What did you ask?" he wanted to know, looking adorably puzzled, as if he really didn't remember. Gibbs' stare hardened because he didn't really believe it – Tony wasn't _that_ drunk. Tony visibly crumbled under the hint of disapproval in that stare and mumbled, "I came to tell you how sorry I am that I fucked up so spectacularly and failed as both an NCIS agent and your second. You trusted me with her safety and health, and I ignored Ziva's instincts and my own gut and now the Director's dead." He stared down at the floor, unable to look his superior in the eye.

Gibbs considered carefully, then slowly put his mug down on the work table. He walked over to Tony and placed a hand on the man's shoulder, giving it a hard squeeze and small shake. "Hey. Look at me, Tony."

Tony raised his head, warily, expecting what he was sure would be a thorough strip taken off his hide.

Instead, he got a mild Gibbs' smack (upside the head), and one of the kindest smiles he'd ever seen on Gibbs' face. The senior agent's voice was gentle, but firm when he spoke.

"I'm only going to say this once, DiNozzo, and you'd better listen to _me_ even if you won't listen to what everyone else has been trying to say. Are you listening?"

Tony nodded, eyes a little wide and glassy, but alert.

"You are not at fault. You are not responsible for the decisions someone else makes – particularly when that person is your superior and you've been given direct orders to take a hike." Gibbs gave him a minute to absorb that, then continued, "Even if you'd gone after her when you got suspicious that something was wrong, there's no guarantee you'd have gotten there in time, or that your presence would have been a good thing. You may have made things worse. Ah! I'm not done." He held up a finger when Tony opened his mouth, probably to protest.

"I'm going to explain at least this much to you, even if I can't give you all the details: Jenny knew what she was doing when she went to that diner. She absolutely knew the score, understood that the likelihood of coming out alive was slim to none. She wasn't alone – Mike was there to back her up – but even with him it was risky." Gibbs held Tony's eyes unflinchingly. "_She_ chose to stay and fight it out. _She_ chose to keep you and Ziva as far from it as she could because it had nothing to do with you, and no doubt she didn't want to drag _you_, Tony, into another of her personal battles. If there was anyone she _should_ have called, it was _me_, but that's something for me to be pissed off and guilty about, not you." He pulled back and returned to where he'd stood earlier, picking up his mug again. "So stop beating yourself up for something you had no control over or even were a part of."

"I don't think Vance sees it that way." Tony muttered unhappily. "I expect to be asking Fornell if the FBI will consider employing an NCIS reject sometime in the near future."

"The hell you will." Gibbs growled, snorting in amusement. Tony shared in the typical inter-agency loathing and feuding that most every NCIS (and FBI) agent tended to exhibit whenever the two butted heads on cases. That he would go work for the FBI if NCIS ever kicked him out was amusing because Tobias Fornell, Senior Special Agent of the FBI, would more than likely accept DiNozzo – gleefully – as a way of further sticking it to their sometimes-rival agency. Truthfully, Gibbs would probably help if their new Director, Leon Vance, and SecNav ever _did_ fire Tony. "DiNozzo, if they're going to give you the boot over this, then they'll have to do so to me, as well. I've done far worse that's worthy of expulsion – and Vance knows all of it now. So I think you're safe."

Tony looked relieved at that, but gave Gibbs a questioning look. "Vance knows about this ultra-secret special op you and Jenny were involved in?"

"Not all the exact details, no, but more than enough to let it all slide without losing any political or legal face with the brass." Gibbs assured.

"Oh. Okay." Tony finished off his drink and handed over the container. "I think I should quit. We've…there's work in a few hours." He was trying not to think about the funeral.

"Did you drive over?" Gibbs put his mug down, too, intending to see his agent out.

"Well, sort of. I parked about a mile away and walked." Tony sighed, getting to his feet a little wobbly. "Needed the air."

"Then you're on my couch tonight, DiNozzo." Gibbs was prepared for that when he got home and realized someone was in the basement waiting for him. He'd more or less known it was Tony, too, and had grabbed a blanket and pillow for him, leaving them on the couch.

He followed Tony upstairs and through the house to the living room. Tony dropped down on the sofa, kicked off his shoes, and lay down in pure exhaustion, not even bothering with the pillow or blanket.

"Uh, hey, boss?"

"Yeah?" Gibbs unfolded the blanket and draped it over Tony's form. His eyes were already closed and he was about two seconds from passing out.

"Ziva…she's feeling guilty, too, even if she isn't – you know – showing it. I'd call her myself, but…"

"Don't worry about it, Tony. I'll talk to her soon, and she'll be fine." Gibbs said quietly. Tony didn't hear him. He was already out. Gibbs lifted his head carefully and stuffed the pillow under it, then smiled as Tony snuggled down into it like a child. In some ways it was true. All of his team were very much like his children – with Ducky as their quirky older uncle or something, Gibbs included.

* * *

Cheyenne Mt. Base, SGC  
Colorado Springs, Colorado  
_Earlier that day…_

When Rodney woke up the following morning, he was alone. He did, however, find a note on the table next to his laptop case from Sheppard, letting him know that the Colonel had "gone for his usual morning run with Ronon and would be back for breakfast – don't wait for him." Rodney shrugged, figuring that it was all Ronon's idea not to let Sheppard wiggle out of their routine even now, and gave it no more thought. Well, except to wonder _where_, exactly, they'd gone to run, as they were inside a mountain with corridors that weren't that large and many, many people going about their business. It wasn't like Atlantis, with room to spare. Heading off to the shower, Rodney made a mental note to inquire at breakfast to satisfy his curiosity.

He was sitting in the commissary with Daniel, Teyla, and one of Daniel's linguists when Ronon and Sheppard arrived. The linguist seemed both fascinated and intimidated by the large Satedan, and excused herself meekly in a hurry when she realized he was joining their table. It amused Rodney because she kind of reminded him of Miko Kusanagi back on Atlantis.

Rodney asked his question as Sheppard took the empty chair the linguist had vacated. "So? Good run? And where did you go, anyway?"

Ronon dug into his rather large stack of pancakes with the zeal of a hungry lion, but answered for Sheppard after swallowing. "Pretty scenery, but not quite as challenging as our route in Atlantis. There's a trail around the mountain on the surface."

"There is?" Daniel asked, surprised. "I didn't know that."

"Lorne mentioned it once in passing." Sheppard explained with a shrug. He taken a modest breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast, all of which he was picking at unenthusiastically. Rodney gave him a look, then smiled as John unconsciously ate a strip of bacon obediently. "He said it used to be a patrol route for base security, but now it's used as a training path for the SGC field training whenever new recruits come in."

"Ah. That would be why I've never heard of it." Daniel nodded, sipping thoughtfully on his third mug of coffee (in the commissary, anyway). None of his team had ever felt the need to run more than they already did off-world (from enemy Jaffa, angry natives, Replicators, Ori soldiers…) preferring the gym to jogging for exercise. And the occasional basketball game.

"Ronon's right, though, it is very nice scenery to look at." Sheppard said. He continued slowly eating under Rodney's eagle-eyed stare. "I'd kind of forgotten what fall looks like."

"It is interesting that many of the planets we visit in Pegasus are more like jungles and warmer temperate climates than the Pacific northwest like we see here in our galaxy." Rodney added, musing aloud. His pancakes were gone and he'd moved on to more coffee.

Teyla, also done eating, sipped her orange juice before asking, "Fall?"

"Autumn." Daniel answered promptly. "Many parts of our planet experience any seasonal changes. Here, in Colorado, we have the four main ones: Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter. Fall refers to the way the leaves change colour and fall from certain species of trees."

"Oh, yes. We have similar seasons on my home world." Teyla nodded in understanding. "I am most curious to see this world. Everything John and Rodney, and others from the expedition, have told me about your planet sound quite wondrous."

Daniel grinned. "We like it." He sobered. "We'll try to make it as quick and painless as possible, Teyla. The shopping, I mean. It's a common phenomenon for a person being introduced to a new culture to experience what we call 'culture shock.' So if it gets to be too much, don't hesitate to tell us and we'll leave." His eyes flicked to Ronon and back. "Ronon, too."

The big guy just stared balefully at him for a moment, and Teyla's eyes widened.

"It is merely shopping. Surely it is not a traumatic experience."

Rodney laughed. "You'd think. If we had more time and could split up some it, it would be easier on _all_ of us. I don't think any one of us are…particularly fond of shopping, let alone subjecting ourselves to a mall full of teenagers, children, and adults with nothing better to do."

"Quit scaring her." Sheppard protested, kicking Rodney under the table. "It's a bit much for a lot of people here, Teyla, even though we're used to it. Still, it probably won't be as bad as it sounds."

Teyla smiled back, faintly, looking as if she wasn't so keen on experiencing their world, after all.

"Speaking of, we should go. Dr. Lam will be waiting for us." Daniel pushed away from the table. "Shall we?"

* * *

Carolyn Lam had checked out an SUV from the base fleet for all of them, instead of splitting into two groups (and thus two vehicles), and still have room for all the purchases. Thankfully, being early in the day and business hours, the mall was not packed with people yet. Teyla – and even Ronon – looked around in stunned awe at the wide array of items for sale, the bright lights and colourful displays all around them. Though Teyla had some vague memory of experiencing this before, from the illusions created for them on that planet with the sentient mist, it was still amazing to her.

Thankfully, being early in the day and business hours, the mall was not packed with people yet. Teyla – and even Ronon – looked around in stunned awe at the wide away of items for sale, the bright lights and colourful displays all around them.

"This is truly wonderful. I have attended market days and festivals that were less extravagant, and I thought _them_ to be amazing." Teyla said, sounding almost breathless.

For the first time in a while, John looked relaxed and at ease. Teyla's wonder seemed to be infectious and soothing. This in turn made Rodney relax. He fully intended to stick close to Sheppard until it became unnecessary.

"Okay. Dr. Lam, you're the expert for the day. Where to first?" John asked.

"Hmm…" Carolyn looked around, trying to decide. She spotted a kiosk with a map and directory of the mall, and led them over to it. "Let's plan this out, using one of these. So…" she pulled out one of the little pamphlets with a mini-map and directory in it, and took Teyla aside to go over the clothing items she thought would be needed. Daniel wandered over at one point and dropped his own suggestions – a corporate-look pants suit or two so she looked official and authoritative, something for the funeral, that sort of thing.

Rodney listened to the list grow, feeling his credit card melt in his wallet almost in protest. Then again, if he ended up burying jewellery and such for their female teammate, it wasn't much of a price difference. Probably more, really. However, he was more comfortable with jewels and precious metals than fabrics. Clearing his throat, he grabbed himself a map and nudged Sheppard.

"Hey, remember what you said about splitting the bill?"

"Yeah. Don't worry, Rodney. I'm fairly sure the Air Force will be happy to reimburse us for it all, anyway." John flashed a small smile, thinking he knew Rodney's concern. "It's part of the investigation."

"Well, whatever." Rodney waved that aside. He really didn't care as much as he might have a few years ago. "You take clothes, I'll take the other stuff."

John raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Okay…" he agreed, "Why do you want the accessories?"

Rodney had that determined gleam in his eyes that he usually go when he had a very clear idea of something he wanted to do – or, in this case, buy. "I have some ideas that would suit Teyla, I think. It's best I go looking since I know exactly what I'm looking for." He reasoned, avoiding explaining his ideas completely.

"Alright." John raised an eyebrow, but didn't question it further.

"Sheppard. They're leaving." Ronon's voice boomed, interrupting. He pointed in the direction of the ladies and Daniel had gone when John and Rodney looked at him.

"Hey! Wait for us!" Rodney – for all the world like a kid – grabbed John's arm and pulled him along to go after their group. Ronon just shook his head and followed on their six.

Three hours later, and the men of the group made a strategic retreat as Carolyn gleefully announced their next stop was Victoria Secret. So they went to grab snacks and beverages while they waited outside the store. John got called in when the women were done to pay for it all – all the while studiously not looking around at the truly sexy undergarments _or_ Teyla, so as not to inflict his subconscious with material he really did not want to imagine. He didn't think of her in that way, though he would be the first to admit she was gorgeous, and he really, _really_ didn't want his ass kicked if she thought otherwise. Teyla was, after all, just as lethal as Ronon.

"Whew! I haven't power-shopped like that in ages!" Carolyn dropped down into a chair at the little café-style shop the men had chosen to wait at. Daniel handed her some fruity-slush drink he'd gotten for her and she beamed at him in thanks. "Excellent! So not god for me but hey!"

"I cannot believe the choices of…everything." Teyla shook her head, obviously a little dazed but downright ecstatic. If Rodney didn't know better, he'd say she was glowing.

It must be a girl thing.

"What's next?" Sheppard asked, eyeing the mountain of shopping bags warily. He hadn't even blinked at the price tags, merely flashed his credit card at each sales associate without a qualm.

"Well, we still need some appropriate shoes." Carolyn sighed, thinking. "Oh! And those accessories. Not too many, though. I don't imagine you'll want to be wearing diamonds while chasing down bad guys."

"No. Sparkle would be not so stealthy."

Rodney nodded. "We should hurry. It's already just after noon."

"Of course. It shouldn't take as long as the clothes bit." Carolyn assured.

Daniel glanced at his watch. "Um…how about Ronon and I take all this back to the car, and we'll meet you somewhere around that map at the entrance in…an hour?" He suggested, glancing at everyone for agreement. Ronon looked relieved to be doing something, dressed casually in dark denim, a loose white shirt, and a leather jacket (he'd broken out his Earth wardrobe one more that morning).

Plan made, the group split up.

After they'd loaded all the shopping bags into the SUV, Daniel thought of one or two other items that would likely be handy – luggage to carry all her new clothes in. So they went looking for appropriate suitcases and a suit bag. Ronon, for some reason, found the array of luggage to be fascinating, as much to Daniel's amusement.

While John put in his two cents about shoe choices – and wasn't that hilarious, a USAF Lieutenant Colonel moonlighting as a fashion consultant – Rodney left them to it, slipping out to run across the mall from the DSW to the jewellery store he'd spotted. Carefully perusing the cases, a sales person took notice of him and became very eager to be of assistance when Rodney pulled a Sheppard and flashed _his_ credit card as he began describing what he wanted.

He was still selecting possibilities when John, Teyla, and Carolyn found him.

"Rodney? What are you…oh!" Teyla exclaimed as she saw what he was looking at. "These are quite beautiful, Rodney!"

"Yes, they are." Rodney moved aside so she could look more closely at the earrings. "Which do you like best?"

"I…well, these ones that look like stars are rather pretty." Teyla pointed them out.

Satisfied, Rodney nodded decisively. "Add those to the rest, please." He said to the sales person, who was already pulling out a box for them. To Teyla he said, "I already picked out a few other things that you should look at, too, but those earrings are…special."

"Rodney?" Teyla questioned at the way he flushed a little and shuffled his feet like a shy boy asking a girl out on a date. John and Carolyn joined them just as the scientist explained himself.

"They're not dangly or anything, so you can wear them pretty much whenever you like and they won't get in the way. And the star-shape is…well, you know…appropriate. But what makes them truly special is that…I wanted to give you something that's a little piece of, uh," his eyes flicked around, conscious of their public location, "…_our_ home. More specifically, _my_ home. Canada."

John spoke up – having seen the display signs as they walked into the store. "Canadian diamonds. Very nice, McKay."

Rodney smiled, and it was the rare, truly happy and a little shy and self-conscious smile that few had ever seen. "Yeah. Best diamonds on the planet." He stated proudly, as if he'd had a hand in their creation by virtue of his heritage. Then his expression turned to near horror and panic. "Oh no…no, no, no, don't do that! Don't get all emotional on me, Teyla! Ack!"

She hugged him hard, hiding her sniffles in his collar. After a moment she let him go enough to pull him into the Athosian-style of greeting and affection, touching her forehead to his.

"Thank you, Rodney. I shall treasure them and they shall be as precious to me as your friendship."

Rodney blushed furiously, stammering out a husky, "Y-you're welcome, Teyla." Thankfully, Carolyn gently extracted Teyla to show her the watches in another display case, leaving Rodney with John to get his red face under control.

John watched the women ogle the fancy time pieces, and clapped his friend on the shoulder approvingly. "You've done good, Rodney. That was a really nice gesture."

"Well, necklaces tend to get in the way, you know, in the field, and rings are…a little too blatant a display of riches for some of the places we end up. So I thought…earrings." Rodney babbled, rationalizing the gift in practical terms. He puffed a bit, though, proud of himself for the choice. "If I'd had the time and materials, I'd have made her some myself out of naqahdah or something, but these are the next best thing."

John laughed softly. He could see Rodney doing just that. "Well, maybe another time."

"Yeah."

Shopping completed, they met up with Daniel and Ronon – new luggage in tow – and headed back to the Mountain. Once there, the linguist went to see if _Odyssey_ had come home yet, and to make a few phone calls. Dr. Lam left them to go back on duty in the infirmary sporting a very pretty tennis bracelet (which John had purchased as a 'thank you' for helping them shop). The Atlantis team go their belongings together, helped Teyla to repack her things and new clothes, and made their way to the briefing room to await their travel plans.

Daniel came out of General Landry's office carrying his own luggage and laptop case. "Everyone ready to go?"

"Yep." John nodded, coming to attention as he turned to Landry. "Sir."

"Good luck with the investigation, Sheppard. Anything you might need, just shout. And my condolences on your loss, son." The General offered his hand sincerely, and John accepted.

"Thank you, sir."

"Dr. Jackson."  
"Yes, sir?"

Landry gave him his own version of the military-dealing-with-civilian-scientists stare of warning. "You be careful, you hear? I know Jack's alright with you jumping into this mess, but frankly, your luck sucks. You tell him if I don't get our finest mind back in one piece – healthy, sane, and whole – I will personally make his life hell."

Daniel laughed, eyes twinkling good-naturedly. John nudged Rodney, who snapped his mouth shut to keep from protesting the 'finest mind' comment. "Don't worry, General. If anything happens to me, I'm fairly sure _I'll_ be the one making his life hell. But I promise to be careful. Besides, I have all this great back-up in Col. Sheppard and his team." He winked at them. "Almost as good as my own." That wasn't a slight, and SGA-1 knew that from their own experience. No one was the same as one's own team.

Landry sighed but smiled and waved them off. "Alright, already. Get going. _Odyssey's_ waiting."

Turning to the others, Daniel picked up the radio on the table and clicked it on to the appropriate frequency. "_Odyssey_, this is Dr. Jackson. We're ready for transport."

"_Roger that. Hey, Jackson._" Was the response. "_All aboard!_" They were enveloped by the bright light of the Asgard beams and between one second and the next, found themselves standing in the Ring room aboard the ship.

Lieutenant Colonel Cameron Mitchell, Daniel's SG-1 teammate and the current commander of the ship, was standing at parade rest in the doorway to welcome them.

"Hi, Cam!" Daniel greeted, waving as best he could with full hands. "How was the trip?"

"Boring. Just the way I like it when they make me sit in that damn chair." Mitchell reported with his slow, southern drawl. He offered a hand to his fellow officer. "Hey, there, Sheppard. Good to see you again. Wish it was under better circumstances."

"We've got to stop meeting like this, Mitchell." John agreed sombrely, shaking his hand.

"I was sorry to hear about your cousin. They didn't tell me much else when they recalled Odyssey, but whatever we can do to help…"

"Thanks. I really appreciate it."

Mitchell grinned and waved at Teyla, Ronon, and McKay. "Hey, ya'll. Welcome aboard!"

"It is a pleasure to see you again, Col. Mitchell." Teyla returned with a smile. McKay nodded and shook his hand, and Ronon just nodded once.

"So! Where to?" Mitchell asked, turning back to Daniel and John. "And what do you need us to do?"

"Well, we're staying at Jack's while we do this, at least for the time being." Daniel explained. "He's going to brief us all on the latest there, today. And tomorrow is the funeral, so…" he looked to Sheppard to see if there was anything he wanted. "Colonel?"

"It's John, Daniel. You're certainly not under _my_ command." Sheppard insisted. Daniel nodded with a small smile – not grinning outright at Mitchell's eye-roll because, really, no one ever _commanded_ Daniel Jackson. "I…don't really know how to start, since I'm sure General O'Neill will have more information for us to use to plan around."

"Right. Well, we've got some restocking and supplying to do up here, and change up some of our personnel anyway, so as soon as you need us, give me a call. You're on the comms, right?" Mitchell gestured to his ear, referring to the tiny radios that everyone on Atlantis typically used, as did the senior personnel on board Earth's ships. Sheppard nodded.

"We are. If you have a spare, you should fit Daniel with one." He suggested.

"I sent an Airman to fetch it when you called to be beamed up." Mitchell frowned. "Wonder what's taking so long?" He tapped his own radio. "Airman Lyle! Where are you and Dr. Jackson's comm?"

"Sir! Here, sir!" Lyle came around a corner out of breath. "My…apologies…sir! It was packed away…with Dr. Jackson's other equipment."

"Ah. Well, give it here. Thank you, Airman. Dismissed." Mitchell took the small case with Daniel's name on it from the man and opened it. After helping Daniel put it on, he raised a questioning eyebrow. "Shall I call ahead to General O'Neill, or is he expecting you?"

The grin Daniel flashed was a little evil. "Oh, he knows we're coming, so just put us down in…his study or something."

"Uh..are you sure…?" Sheppard looked uneasy about that. After all, he was a _General_. Mitchell, on the other hand, looked about as mischievous as the linguist.

"Sure thing! It is, of course, all your doing."

"Of course."

Mitchell gave the Lieutenant standing unobtrusively (and silently) at the control panel a nod. "You heard the man, Lieutenant. Beam away."

"Yes, sir. Give me a moment to calibrate."

"We'll call you down for the briefing." Sheppard offered Mitchell. "You may as well be as informed as the rest of us if you're gonna help out."

"Okay. I'll be waiting."

"Calibration complete. Ready?" The Lieutenant glanced at the travellers. At their signal, she pushed a button and once again they were transported, this time to General Jack O'Neill's townhouse in Alexandria, Virginia.

* * *

General O'Neill wasn't in the room when they reappeared. Daniel was the first to note the absence, and before any of them could do more than take a cursory glance around, the archaeologist was leading them out of the room (which Rodney guessed was an office or study). Daniel paused in what was the foyer of the townhouse, seeming to listen intently for signs of Jack's presence. "That's strange. I thought he'd be here. Let me just…" he muttered, pulling out his cell phone and whipping off a text message. "So wherever he is, we should probably get you settled and maybe order some lunch delivered, right?"

Ronon brightened visibly at the mention of food, and Rodney's stomach growled, answering for him. He blushed at Sheppard's wry glance. "What? I haven't eaten a thing since breakfast. Oh, and that snack at the mall. But that was a long time ago! It's a wonder I haven't suffered a severe hypoglycaemic reaction!"

Teyla patted him soothingly on the arm. "We will see to it you do not." She assured him, obviously humouring the man but still coming off as motherly concern.

Daniel's cell went off and he read the return text. "Ah. He's on the phone upstairs in his room. Says to put you in the guestrooms and…oh. Well. I'll see what's up and we'll go from there." Daniel hastily tucked the cell phone away, into his pocket. "Okay! Upstairs! Follow me."

"Are you sure it's fine for us to be staying here? I mean, a hotel suite would serve just as well, Daniel." Sheppard pointed out as they climbed the stairs to the second floor.

"Well, Jack's hospitable like that. Besides which, this is a gated community with a high level of security. There are a lot of military _and_ civilian high-ranked personnel in this area, so it's a bit more secure than any hotel would be." Daniel stopped at a door and opened it. "Ah, I'm sorry to say you'll be sharing quarters again, though. Two of you can have this room – it's got the bed and a futon that fold out into another bed – and the other two will have to share the other guest bed in this rom." He walked partway down the hall and opened another door.

"This one's got a half-bath of its own – with a shower – and the main guest bathroom is here." Daniel showed them the bathroom. "There should be clean towels and all in the cupboards so dig around until you find what you need. Um…" he rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to remember if there was anything else, then shrugged. "I think that's it for now. Oh! Those doors," he pointed at the double doors just behind his shoulder at the end of the hall, "are to Jack's room, which is off-limits – except in an emergency, of course. So…how about you all decide your sleeping arrangements and get settled, and I'll talk to Jack and order lunch, and we'll meet downstairs in the living room in…thirty minutes?"

Sheppard nodded agreeably. "Sounds good."

"Wait! Where are you staying, Daniel?" Teyla asked, frowning slightly. "It is not fair to put you out just to accommodate us."

Daniel just smiled. "Don't worry, Teyla. I'll bunk with Jack. I usually do when SG-1 is in the house. Besides, as John said yesterday, it's not as if we aren't used to sharing close quarters after all the missions and such."

She smiled back, giving a slight bow of her head in acknowledgement. "Very well. If you're certain."

"Yep! Go ahead, guys. I'll see you shortly." With that, he disappeared into the General's room, closing the door behind him.

As per their usual arrangement, the team split into two: John and Rodney took the one-bed room, while Teyla and Ronon took the other. While Rodney was conflicted as hell about it (half wanting eagerly to spend more time in bed with John but equally dreading the closeness for the havoc it played on his control), Sheppard was relieved and happily neutral about having to share not just a room but a bed with his friend. Another man. Rodney bitterly chalked it up to having spent a large part of his life in close proximity to other men, thanks to the military (things like barracks, and communal showers). Besides being straight, he most likely would never _think_ of the situation as in any way romantic – even if he is the Kirk of the Pegasus galaxy.

"I'm going to shower and change really quickly, McKay." Sheppard said, digging out clean clothes for himself from his bag. "Do you need the bathroom?"

"No. Go ahead. I'm just going to check my email and return a few. Maybe let Jeannie know I'm back and see how she's doing." Rodney watched him stride toward the on-suite bathroom, wistfully admiring John's ass in the civilian jeans he rarely had the opportunity to wear. "John? You okay?"

"Huh?" The officer poked his head out again. "I'm fine, Rodney. Why?"

"Never mind." Rodney shook his head at himself and went about setting up his laptop. "Enjoy your shower."

He didn't see the odd look John gave him, but he did silently berate himself for being a worry-wart. And what was wrong with him anyway? Where was this mother-henning streak coming from? Rodney grumbled under his breath to himself as he sat on the bed with his laptop and began the monumental task of sorting his email.

* * *

Daniel turned away from the doors and dropped his bags right there, his eyes immediately acquiring his target and locking on. General Jack O'Neill was looking decidedly decadent lounging about on his king-sized bed in just faded old sweatpants and on Air Force T-shirt. He was grinning at Daniel, even with the handset phone held up to one ear as he listened to whoever it was on the other end of the line. Daniel couldn't help but grin back, and slowly moved toward the bed when Jack crooked a finger at him.

"So basically you're telling me that they're not talking." Jack spoke to whoever it was, his brown eyes tracking Daniel's movements as the linguist stopped at the foot of the bed and proceeded to take off his jacket and shoes. "Uh huh, well keep trying. If I have to ask the President to ask SecNav to _order_ his people to talk, it's gonna get messy. Yeah, fine. Gotta go!" Jack abruptly hung up as Daniel stripped off the rest of his clothes and crawled up the bed with all the grace of a big cat. "Well, hello, Dr. Jackson! I was beginning to get lonely."

"Hi." Daniel crawled right up over the top Jack and smiled at the warmth, welcome, and love in the older man's gaze. "Sorry it took longer than expected." He dipped his head and pressed a soft kiss to Jack's mouth. "But we're here now." Another soft kiss. "Forgive me?" And another, this time a little deeper and a little longer.

"Oh, I think I can. For a few more of those." Jack gently removed Daniel's glasses and set them on the bedside table before pulling the linguist down and into a full-body hug. "God, I missed you." Jack sighed lustily, letting his hands roam over his linguist's bare skin greedily.

"Me, too. Even if I was only gone for a couple of days." Daniel admitted, gamely letting Jack roll them over so Daniel was the one on his back with Jack hovering above him. "As much as I'd be ecstatic to lie around with you…"

"Naked."

"…naked," Daniel obliged with a quick grin, "thirty minutes isn't nearly long enough for that. And I kind of want to shower after spending all morning in the mall."

Jack quirked an eyebrow at that, but otherwise pouted. "Thirty minutes? You couldn't have said an hour?"

"I would have, Jack, but John's being very patient, and it has to be running on empty – especially with no one telling him anything useful." Daniel was all sympathy – or was that empathy? Either way, Jack couldn't really argue with it. He never could.

"Yeah." Jack rolled off Daniel and sat up. "That was Davis. I have him poking around and pulling strings at the Pentagon trying to find out more, but the Naval department seems to have clammed up even tighter than _our_ security." He made a frustrated sound as he scrubbed his face with both hands.

"Or they just don't know anything either and are trying to hide it from everyone else." Daniel hypothesized, always willing to give the benefit of the doubt, though in this case it seemed a little backhanded.

"Or that." Jack nodded. "Davis considered that, too. He found out a few things, but nothing very concrete. He's sending me what he has."

"Good. In the meantime…shower." Daniel slid off the bed and padded to the master bathroom.

Jack thought about it for all of a second before following, clothes littering the floor in his wake.


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer:_ The author does not own any of NCIS or Stargate, only borrows them for the sake of this fanfiction. No profit is made by the writing of this story.

_Warnings:_ Anything one expects to see on Stargate or NCIS, expect it here; also, slash in the form of Jack/Daniel, and John/Rodney; het pairings include Tony/Ziva, Gibbs/Jenny.

_If you dislike such things, or are underage, do not read!_

_Big thanks for the beta, Rainy!_

**Chapter III**

"Alright kids, gather 'round." General O'Neill called their little briefing to order. SGA-1, Daniel, and Mitchell (called down for this meeting just moments ago), took seats around Jack's study and sat listening expectantly. Daniel, perched on the edge of Jack's desk, handed over a file folder from behind himself when Jack held out a hand for it.

"Okay, so I have my people sticking their noses into every corner of the Pentagon trying to figure out the full story, but so far they're coming up shorter than I'd like. Here is what we _do_ know: five days ago, Jenny Sheppard, Director of NCIS, attended the funeral of an old colleague in Los Angeles who recently passed away. William Decker was a former agent, and they had worked on an op in Europe nine years ago together with a third agent – who I have yet to learn the identity of." Jack held up a photo of Decker. "I also haven't discovered what the op entailed. All Davis could find out was that it involved some Russian intelligence agents.

"Now, it seems that after the funeral, instead of returning to the hotel with her escort of NCIS agents as planned, Dir. Sheppard left to parts unknown _alone_. Her agents, though reluctant, followed orders to enjoy their sudden free time in L.A. while the Director was off doing whatever it was she was doing." Jack lowered the folder he was reading from. "We don't know why she went off alone, what she was doing, or who else was involved. All we do know is that less than a day passed before Decker's widow turned up murdered near the Santa Monica Pier."

"Wait a second! You're not saying Jenny's suspected of murdering this woman?" John sat up stiffly, angry protest colouring his every word. "She'd never…"

"No, Sheppard." Jack snapped back, giving him a hard stare. "If you'd let me finish, I'd have said it's been determined that whoever ran those goons in that diner in the shoot-out with Dir. Sheppard was the murderer."

John lowered his gaze, chastised and grim. "Sorry, sir."

"As I was saying, her agents had, by that time, become concerned and tracked the GPS on her rental to the Pier, where they came across the crime scene already being processed by the local LEOs. It appears that at some point the Director had contact with the widow and gave her the rental car. We don't know why, yet, either." Jack closed the file and handed it back to Daniel. "All we know after that is Jenny Sheppard ended up in that abandoned diner in the desert north of L.A., where she was engaged in a shoot-out with at least four – possibly five – armed men. Her agents tracked her cell phone out there, only they were too late to arrive. When they contacted their usual supervisor, the incident was reported on up the chain-of-command all the way to SecNav."

"Davis got wind of it quite by accident but reported it to Jack when he also heard rumours of documents gone missing containing ultra-top-secret material, and after he did a little digging he found out the documents could possibly contain data from the programme." Daniel added, taking over where the older man left off.

Rodney was frowning thoughtfully. "And we don't know what, exactly, that data might be."

"No."

"Well, if it actually _is_ relevant to the Stargate programme," Mitchell drawled, thinking aloud, "based on the timeline, that would put it around what? The third year of the programme?"

Jack and Daniel exchanged looks. "Sounds about right." Jack nodded slowly.

"I wonder…if there are Russians involved, then it would be data from their own programme – the one they set up with the Giza Gate they recovered from the Pacific after you guys crashed Thor's ship." Daniel mused.

Jack shuddered. "Ugh. Let's not dwell." Those damn bugs still occasionally gave him nightmares.

"So there is a high probability it _is_ relevant." Rodney's fingers tapped restlessly on the arm of the sofa chair he sat on. "Which means we really need to find out what happened to those documents – if there ever really _were_ any."

"Where do we start looking, though?" Teyla inquired, glancing from the General, to John, to Rodney, and back to John. "Can we not ask for all the information this NCIS place has? Surely they must also want to know why their leader was killed."

"Ha! If only it were that simple." Rodney scoffed.

Jack looked pained. "McKay is right about that, Ms. Emmagan. It should be that easy, in an ideal world, but I'm afraid that even in the military there are politics to be dealt with." He met the gazes of his officers, and the three shared silent, tacit agreement born of working for the same military branch. "It's going to be the Navy and Marine Corps versus the Air Force, boys. They're not going to want to lose face with us, nor are they going to look favourably on the AF barging in on _their_ territory."

"Yes, sir." John and Cam chorused – much to Rodney's amusement. He gave them all an eye roll that clearly said 'military!' with disdain.

"If it's going to be such a problem, then you'll just have to come up with a suitable, acceptable explanation, won't you?" The scientist waved aside their concerns. "It's not like you can tell them the truth."

"At least not until we find out whether or not those documents really _are_ Gate-related." Daniel conceded with a sigh.

"Your world is a very strange place." Teyla observed, shaking her head in that disapproving way she had – usually aimed at Sheppard and McKay.

"It was the same on Sateda." Ronon put in, his voice startling Mitchell because he'd almost forgotten the big warrior was even there. "Our military units were very competitive, even though we all fought the same enemy. It helped to motivate us to always improve."

"Yeah, that's mostly true here, as well." Mitchell responded. "Only we also have politicians and bureaucrats involved in our military, so we end up with politics whenever things like this happen."

"If it looks bad, then the Navy could lose funding from the government, or even outside contracts for weapons and technology." Jack stood and paced in front of his desk. "But whatever. However we go about it, Ms. Emmagan…"

"Teyla, please." She insisted with a smile.

Jack smiled back, "…Teyla, you are correct. We do need to get more information out of NCIS. I have a sneaking suspicion that they aren't sharing everything they know. Not even with SecNav."

"Well, regardless, we probably can't do much until after the funeral tomorrow, anyway." Daniel hopped off Jack's desk, grabbing the General's arm as he passed. "Quit that! You're making me dizzy!"

"General, I'll return to _Odyssey_ and contact Col. Davis." Mitchell stood at parade rest as he addressed his superior. "I know a few Marines in the Pentagon myself, so I could make some ultra-discreet inquiries, too, if you like."

Jack frowned a moment, then nodded sharply. "Do it. Coordinate with Davis for now, and report in tomorrow at 1200, which should be after the funeral with plenty of time for Col. Sheppard to return here."

"Yes, sir." Mitchell turned to John and held out a hand. "Sheppard, I'm very sorry, again, for your loss. Don't worry. We'll catch the bastard behind all this."

John, still grim-faced, got up and shook Mitchell's hand. "Thanks."

Cam waved at the others. "See you all tomorrow, then." He reached for his ear, contacting the ship to be beamed back aboard. After the bright flash of light, he was gone.

Jack walked around his desk and pulled up a chair, reaching for his phone. "You all should go figure out supper while I start figuring out a cover story." He glanced at Daniel as he dialled, making a head motion toward his study doors.

Daniel got the hint and ushered SGA-1 out. "Let's go see if Jack's kitchen is worth raiding, shall we? If not, we'll find the take-out menus."

* * *

John spent the evening mostly silent, thinking hard on the mission his cousin had been involved in that somehow resulted in her death by a gun fight nine years later. He wondered if Jenny had known something about the Stargate programme when she went on that mission, and if she did, was that why she'd fought so hard for him after Afghanistan? Certainly there'd been _some_ familial connection behind her efforts, but maybe she'd known something he hadn't, and used what she knew to manoeuvre him into milk-runs at McMurdo – where he would, sooner or later, find out just what was going on out in the middle of the Antarctic.

Then again, maybe not. The truth was that he'd never find out now.

There was also the matter of those documents. How had she come into possession of ultra-top-secret data? Who were these Russians she'd been dealing with? And why did they wait nine years to come looking for her? All the questions he had were becoming increasingly frustrating, and it didn't help that the General's man in the Pentagon, Colonel Paul Davis, was being equally frustrated by the stonewalling of the entire Naval department.

"They're making the excuse that they can't officially release details until after the autopsy is done." O'Neill had reported at supper when he'd finally gotten off his phone and joined them in the kitchen to eat. "Which will be sometime late tonight, and even then they may not say anything due to the 'sensitive nature' of the mission that she'd been involved in. In other words, they're going to try to pull out the national security card to avoid telling anyone outside the very few who already know."

John was no less disgusted with the politics now than he had been at supper. Rodney had made him feel just a little better at his quick, indignant – and yes, disgusted – snort.

"Ha! What a crock! We have more clearance than any one of those idiots do!" he'd exclaimed while viciously ripping the crust off his pizza slice. "National security is no excuse!"

John wanted to agree, but he knew better. As did O'Neill, who promptly reminded Rodney that their clearance, while absolute, was such that it was completely unknown to the Navy and Marine Corps. To them, O'Neill and his people were just outsiders with no reason to care what went on within Naval affairs. The politics of the situation would demand reading someone high on the command structure into the programme in order to prove their interest was legitimate and necessary.

As much as John wanted his answers, he wasn't willing to put the programme at such risk by telling someone who really didn't _need_ to know all about the Gate, and the galaxy, and Atlantis…

The morning had dawned grey and damp. It wasn't raining – yet – but there was a heavy mist over everything at 0700 when John (and Ronon) went out for a run. When they got back an hour and a half later, the General was up and in his study on the phone again. Teyla was in the kitchen with Daniel, learning all about the many modern conveniences that were appliances as they made breakfast. Rodney was apparently still asleep.

John accepted a mug of fresh, hot coffee from Teyla for himself, and a second for their slumbering scientist. "Thanks, Teyla. At least I have this as a distraction when I wake him up."

Teyla laughed lightly. "I did think of that, myself. Go on, John. Breakfast should be ready…"

"Very soon." Daniel supplied from the stove where he was cracking eggs into a skillet.

"I might grab a quick shower." John said, heading for the door. "If there's time."

"There is." Daniel waved a spatula at him. "If you're quick."

On his way past the General's study to the stairs, John was called into Jack's office.

"Yes, sir?" John came into the room warily, feeling a tad uncomfortable being way out of uniform (so to speak) with a mug of coffee in either hand before his Superior Officer.

"Relax, Sheppard. It's too damn early to be so formal." Jack huffed, fidgeting with a pen. "And in my house, damn it!"

"I'll try, sir." John had to concentrate but he managed to force some of his muscles to release their tension.

"I just got off the phone with Arlington National Cemetery. It seems that between the efforts of myself and a Special Agent Gibbs at NCIS, SecNav was persuaded to have Ms. Sheppard buried with a standard military service at Arlington, rather than at a civilian cemetery as had been originally planned." Jack informed him with a slight smile. "I have to say I kinda want to meet this Gibbs fellow, as we seem to be of like minds. Apparently we presented similar cases to SecNav."

John's eyes widened. "Really, sir? That's…amazing. I don't know what to say…" He hadn't imagined they'd be willing to give her that honour – especially not after this 'mission' she'd fouled up. "How? I mean, what did you…?"

Jack's face softened and he leaned back in his chair. "We both made our case on the basis of family connections, rather than as a civilian of a federal law enforcement agency. This Gibbs guy apparently knew her father was an Army officer who is buried there, and in my case, I pointed out that her surviving next of kin is Air Force and a hero in his own right." Jack winked and grinned broadly at John's flush of embarrassment and headshake of denial. "They had to take my word on that since your file is very classified, but then, my word seems to have some weight in this town with the right people."

"I…thank you, General. She would be so honoured by this." John swallowed hard, trying not to let emotion choke him up. Then he frowned a bit. "They do know my uncle was being investigated for arms dealing before he died, don't they?"

Jack shrugged. "Probably. Doesn't matter, though. They never charged him then or after, so he was buried clean and free."

"Right." John blinked and stared down at the coffee. "Um, was that all, sir? I should get this upstairs to wake up Rodney before it gets cold." He really needed to get in that shower where he could be alone for a time to contemplate and prepare for the day. And to get his emotions under control.

"Yep. Go on, Sheppard. Heaven forbid we deprive one of our geeks of their morning caffeine fix." Jack shuddered visibly – and entirely jokingly. John wondered if it was due to experience with not one but two 'geeks' on his team (Daniel and Sam Carter), but didn't ask. He just nodded his agreement fervently (Rodney sans caffeine was on par with a Wraith Queen in terms of scary) and made a quick exit.

* * *

The ride to Arlington was short and smooth, with little traffic impeding their journey. They were in an SUV issued by General O'Neill from the USAF fleet out of Boling (because it was closer than Andrews) – a nice, non-government-looking Jeep Liberty in, appropriately, USAF blue. Daniel was driving, and was attending the funeral on behalf of the programme – and as a sympathetic friend. The General opted to remain at home, in case more information came through, though he said he'd have been honoured to accompany John and stand by him, otherwise.

John was only half glad he hadn't come along. Part of him wanted O'Neill to be there so everyone – including Jenny, wherever she was – could see he'd finally merited some credit with worthy men, that he was worth the effort.

Of course there were a few people John was _very_ glad weren't going to be there. Like his brother. Their relationship hadn't been repaired enough for John to have the strength to have to deal with David Sheppard at the moment, so he was relieved Dave had emailed him back that morning sending regards but unable to get away from his own life for the funeral. The other person John was even more grateful not to have to see was his ex, Nancy. She, thankfully, was somewhere in Europe. In her case, there were far too many reasons for John not to want her there – number one being Rodney McKay. Because even if he and Rodney were no more than friends, however close, he had no wish to rub his ex in the man's face. Or to rub Teyla in his ex's face. Even if there was nothing of the kind between them, a beautiful woman like Teyla in John's general vicinity would drive Nancy crazy. It was a drama he did _not_ need (and that went double for Rodney…because it would hurt more).

Teyla sat up front with Daniel, listening intently to his explanation about wearing black to funerals and why. It was a peculiarity of their world she'd noticed and had wondered at, but never found someone to ask about it. The scholar was wearing his anthropologist cap as he explained about the tradition and symbolism, and about dyes and fabrics and how expensive colour was in the past. John listened, too, with half an ear because he didn't know about any of what Daniel was saying, either – not that he'd ever really thought about it. At the end, Teyla shook her head, saying she understood the explanation but found the lack of celebration of life rather sad and even more depressing than it already was.

"My people are surrounded with death every moment of our lives," she added, more thoughtfully than anything else, "and so when one of us dies a natural death – which is nearly any way outside of a Wraith to us – we celebrate and have a great ceremony filled with colour and song to honour the departed one." She looked very sad for a moment, and John realized she was likely thinking of the old woman who'd raised her, Charin, who died just before they'd left the planet Atlantis had slumbered on for 10,000 years under the threat of the Asuran beam weapon.

"That does influence the customs of a people." Daniel agreed. "Someday you'll have to tell me about it in more detail."

"Certainly." Teyla smiled, obviously enjoying speaking to someone so interested in learning her customs and traditions. Both John and Rodney glanced at each other guiltily at that, both feeling that they – as Teyla's friends and team – should probably have shown more interest themselves.

Neither dared glance back at Ronon, sitting behind them, for the same reason, as they hadn't really asked after Sateda, either.

Arriving at Arlington, Daniel drove slowly through the massive cemetery following the directions Jack had given him. They passed by other services taking place (there were typically several occurring daily here), and by the fields of white headstones marking the resting places of thousands and thousands of Americans who'd served and died for their nation. John stared out the window at them, swallowing hard, and wondered if – someday – he would end up here. Truthfully, he hoped not. He'd rather be cremated and have his ashes ejected into space in Pegasus – or wherever Atlantis was when he died. Because that was home, now.

When they found the place where Jenny's funeral was, they were directed by helpful Arlington staff where to park, and to please speak to the priest who was waiting for the hearse to arrive, with six Marine and Naval honour guards that would act as pall-bearers. Daniel parked, and though John would rather just go and get it over with without talking to anyone, he pulled on his military training and did his best to be calm and polite as they walked en masse to the priest.

"Col. Sheppard, welcome." The young man, who was a smartly dressed priest, offered a hand, which John shook after putting on his hat and sunglasses (despite the dreary, damp day). "Father Larry Clannon. I'm very glad you were able to attend, Colonel. I understand the Director was your cousin, and until I was told you were coming I was saddened that she would be laid to rest without family to see her off."

John shook his head. "She wouldn't have been. NCIS was her family more than our own blood ever was." He stated softly, but indifferently. He was, after all, all too used to his relatives' disdain.

The priest hesitated, seeming to wonder if he'd said the wrong thing, but changed the subject smoothly. "As her attending next of kin, you will be presented the flag during the service, but was there anything else you would wish to request? Any words you would like to say yourself or perhaps a particular prayer?"

John hid a shudder, feeling what blood was in his head drain right down to his toes. "No, sir. But thanks anyway. Jenny and I have never been particularly religious."

"That's fine, Colonel. I apologize for asking, it's just that the arrangements were made on such short notice and I was only informed of your arrival this morning."

"Whatever was already arranged will be…more than she ever would have expected, so no problem." John's voice caught, but Father Clannon studiously ignored it, nodding and shaking his hand again.

"Then that's how it will be, Colonel." He glanced over as one of the staff waved at him and pointed out the on-coming procession. "Ah, here comes the hearse and the NCIS personnel, now. Colonel Sheppard, on behalf of the Naval Department, we are very sorry for your loss, and we are honoured to be allowed to send Jenny Sheppard off to God's care." The priest said. Behind him, the three Marines and three Sailors snapped to attention and saluted John smartly.

Stifling a sigh, John returned the salute and managed, "Thank you," then walked stiffly past toward the small crowd of attendees at the graveside. The group stood on the opposite side of the grave, where they could watch the procession when the hearse arrived. His team arranged themselves around him, surrounding him, which he was grateful for because it blocked the curious stares and strange looks from the other mourners. It was also oddly grounding and comforting, even though John knew they always had his six. Teyla was on his right, with Daniel next to her and slightly behind, and Rodney was on his left. Ronon's big, imposing, solid presence was right behind John, and the officer wished he could find the amusement in the picture they probably presented, mismatched as they all were.

Wishing they were anywhere but here, John watched the procession of cars pull up.

* * *

_Earlier…_

Gibbs was up at 0700, promptly, without the use of an alarm clock. After so many years of being on a schedule (from being a Marine to NCIS), his internal clock was permanently set and worked just as well as any Swiss timepiece. On the other hand, age seemed to be catching up with him more and more each year, as he found it harder and harder to just wake up and be immediately alert. Especially on mornings like this after a very, very late night – usually due to a case he was working – where he got only a few hours of restful sleep.

Still, he got himself out of bed, used the washroom, and headed for the kitchen and his first cup of coffee of the day.

On the way, he paused to check on Tony (still zonked right out), deciding to let the poor kid (okay, 39 going on 40 wasn't a 'kid' anymore, but it still felt like it!) get what precious sleep he could. After adjusting the blanket over Tony again, Gibbs got his coffee and took it and his cell phone downstairs to the basement where he could talk about disturbing Tony.

His first call was to his new boss, the newly minted _Director_ Leon Vance. As he'd suspected, the man was already at NCIS setting up shop and taking stock of the agency's state of affairs as Jenny had left them. Even though Gibbs knew Vance, had worked with him a couple of times before long ago in the past, their conversation was short, to the point, and vaguely stand-offish – on both men's sides; Vance, because he and everyone else (including SecNav) knew that if Gibbs ever wanted out of the field but to still remain at NCIS, he would most certainly be the one occupying the Director's office and position in the blink of an eye. The only things keeping Gibbs out of that office was the fact that a) he hated paperwork and was no bureaucrat, b) didn't like playing politics even if he did have the forked silver tongue to do it, and c) he loved the job he already had as a field investigator. Then, too, Vance was wary of anything Gibbs might have been up to at the behest of Jenny Sheppard, who had died after making a habit of using her position for personal issues and motives. He didn't know the extent of Gibbs' (or any of his team, for that matter) involvement.

Gibbs, on the other side of things, was still a tad pissed off that Vance had immediately stuck his nose in when notified of Jenny's death (not to mention hadn't allowed DiNozzo or Ziva to call Gibbs and tell him Vance was there), and how he had been suspicious and even condescending of both Jenny _and_ Gibbs. And the way he'd just mowed right over Gibbs' authority and assumed a level of authority for himself that wasn't officially his yet didn't help. Still, Gibbs understood what Leon had been brought in by SecNav to do, and why, and he was working on getting over it. Of course, if he ever thought Vance was wrong or making a mistake, he wouldn't hesitate to say so – to the man's face.

Which is one of many reasons Gibbs didn't do politics unless absolutely necessary. He is just too blunt and honest about everything.

The call consisted of letting Vance know the funeral arrangements were made and the when and where of the service, as well as being informed (in return) that Vance wouldn't be able to go because he was being briefed all morning in MTAC by various people concerning various operations that he, as Director, would now be involved in. Also, Vance passed along condolences from SecNav – who wouldn't be attending either, because he could not condone Jenny's actions in any way, and attending her funeral was tantamount to showing approval of her decision to go cowgirl and die in a shoot-out.

Politics, again. Oh, how Gibbs loathed it.

At least he and his team didn't have to come in until it was time to escort Jenny's body to Arlington for the service at 1130 hours.

That gave him time to make another call, this time to Ziva David, a Mossad Officer whom Jenny assigned to Gibbs' team as a liaison after the mess with her half-brother, Ari Aswari, and how he'd turned traitor and also killed Kaitlin Todd, one of Gibbs' team members. Once Gibbs had proven to Ziva (Ari's Mossad handler) that Ari was a murdering bastard as well as a traitor, it had been Ziva who'd shot and killed her own brother right there in Gibbs' basement on the day of Kate's funeral. For that, Ziva had decided not to return home to Israel in case of reprisals from her father, Eli David – the Director of Mossad – and Jenny (who was a friend of sorts to Ziva) arranged for the liaison position to allow her to remain in the relative safety of the USA and the care of NCIS, specifically. Though her beginnings with the team had been somewhat rocky, she'd fit herself in quite well, and while she wouldn't – couldn't – _replace_ Kate, she had etched out her own place among them. Ziva had become as much theirs, as much _family_, as Kate had been.

This was another reason Gibbs was concerned for Ziva. She'd become so much a part of the team, and now with Jenny gone, there was no guarantee she would be allowed to remain – by either Eli David's decree _or_ Leon Vance's. Gibbs wasn't sure if Tony, McGee, Ducky, or Abby realized that yet, but he was positive it would have occurred to Ziva by now. So he called her and told her to get her butt to his basement ASAP when she answered her phone sounding exhausted and…hollow.

While he waited for Ziva to show up, Gibbs refilled his coffee and made another pot, contemplating the situation and Ziva herself. All his agents were and are like his very own children. Tony was the prodigal oldest son, doing his best to learn everything he could in order to someday take over the 'family business,' so to speak – even if he did it with his very own DiNozzo flair. Kate had been like the grown-up, oldest daughter, a strong young woman fully capable of dealing with life on her own and not putting up with any sort of patriarchal protectiveness Gibbs tended to display toward his agents. She still respected him, but she stood up to him when required and didn't let him get away with treating her as less than an equal adult. She and Tony, on the other hand, had squabbled like teenaged siblings on a regular basis – and worked together to torment Timothy McGee, the newest 'Probie' of the team and 'youngest son,' like older siblings tend to do to their younger ones.

Well, brothers, anyway, because they _all_ adored and protected Abigail Sciuto, NCIS' lab tech, and whom Gibbs considered his youngest daughter and always had. Abby was their little sister and no one messed with her, even if – with her Goth appearance and quirky personality – she was a capable young woman in strength of character and knowledge. And with Dr. Donald Mallard, affectionately known as "Ducky," rounding out their odd little family as the eccentric and wise older uncle, always willing to listen, and always ready with sage advice for any occasion, it was little wonder that they worked so well with each other, nor that it had been difficult for Ziva to carve out a space for herself among them.

She did, however. And now, she was very much like another daughter to Gibbs. Unlike Kate, though, or Abby, Ziva was…broken. Lost. While Kate had been street smart and pure, and where Abby was worldly yet innocent (and even a little naïve), Ziva was a black-sheep of sorts – rough, hard, and beaten down by the world. She'd been raised with death, war, and fanaticism all around her. Her own father raised not a daughter but a tool – a weapon – efficient, swift, and soulless. And although Gibbs would have preferred to believe Ziva had killed Ari to save Gibbs and end Ari's murder and terror spree out of some true sense of right and wrong, he somehow knew it had been done on Eli David's order: kill her brother (another of his tools that had gone rogue and betrayed him) to earn Gibbs' trust (and thus NCIS' trust) and to eliminate the threat to Mossad that Ari had become. Still, whatever the reason, Ziva still became a very important person to Gibbs.

Also unlike Kate, Ziva's relationships with the rest of the team were less sibling rivalry – sibling anything, really – and more like the cousin one only sees a couple times a year. Well, in Abby and McGee's case, at least. Abby had taken the longest to warm to Ziva's presence, but now she welcomed the Mossad officer and was fiercely protective of her. McGee had a great deal of awe and respect for her, and he got along very well with Ziva. Probably because she didn't engage in teasing him or pulling pranks on him like DiNozzo (and Kate) regularly did (and still do, even if Tony now considered the Probie to be his partner as Kate had been). Rather than helping DiNozzo torture McGee, Ziva was more of a Mother-cum-diplomat, sticking up for their young tech-wizard and turning things around on Tony instead, which usually effectively ended any of the man's antics neatly.

In Tony's case (and here Gibbs stuck his head around the corner to check on DiNozzo when he heard a car door slam outside), where he and Kate had the adolescent bickering thing going on and Tony often made comments and teased the conservatively Catholic Kate about anything involving sex, Gibbs had never believed the two would ever really end up in that kind of relationship. But Tony and Ziva… Gibbs sighed to himself as the woman in question walked in without knocking (probably believing he was in the basement, and Gibbs never locked his door anyway), and raised a finger to his lips when she spotted him to warn her to keep quiet. Motioning her to follow him, he turned and went to pour them both fresh mugs of coffee. He handed one to her and led her downstairs.

"I did not realize Tony was here." Was the first thing she said. "Is he well?"

Gibbs shrugged. "He will be. Eventually. I straightened him out on a few things." He watched Ziva carefully as she walked to his work tables and restlessly picked up tools to study them and play with them, unable to really look at Gibbs directly for any length of time. It was uncharacteristic of her, and Gibbs wondered when he'd been made the one who was supposed to 'fix' everyone. So far, the only one in his team he hadn't had to 'fix' yet was McGee.

Ziva, still not looking at Gibbs, nodded in a vaguely relieved way. "Good. That is good. He would not listen to me when I insisted it was not his fault."

"Yeah, well, DiNozzo is a thick-headed son of a bitch sometimes. Especially when he's feeling guilty over something." Gibbs raised an eyebrow at her, even if she didn't see it. "He's not the only one."

"He should not blame himself for Jenny's death. He had every reason to be cautious about getting involved in her personal business again." Ziva said strangely, as if she hadn't heard Gibbs. "I must make it up to him for being less than…understanding of that at the time."

"Ziva." Gibbs set down his cup and reached out, turning her to face him and settling his hands on her shoulders. "You know he doesn't blame you, either. None of us do." He tipped her chin up gently with a finger, staring into her dark, haunted eyes solidly, but kindly. "Tony isn't the only one blaming himself, and if what you've tried to tell him is true, then it's true for you as well."

She shook her head, mouth thinning tightly in denial. "No. I knew immediately something was wrong at the funeral. I should not have let her go off alone like that. It was my duty to protect her, she was my responsibility and I…"

"You followed her orders, exactly as you should have. When you discovered there really was a problem, you did everything you could to find her and get there to assist her." Gibbs tightened his grip and gave her a small shake. "You are not to blame for the decisions another person makes. Do you hear me?"

Ziva's eyes were wide, and watering up, and her face just crumpled under Gibbs' stern, yet compassionate, stare. "She was my _friend_, Gibbs! The first true friend I have ever had. And I let her walk into a firefight alone and unprepared!"

Gibbs nodded as he pulled her into his arms. "Don't bury it, Ziva. Let it go." He would repeat himself after she'd cried herself free of her grief, when she'd be more willing to listen to him. Ziva clung to him after a moment where she stood so tensely in his arms she vibrated with it, and she cried, deeply and for a long while. Gibbs imagined she had a great deal of grief piled up inside her heart, not all of it because of Jenny Sheppard. She even pounded on his chest a few times with her fist in anger, but Gibbs took it (figuring he'd have bruises later but not caring much) and simply held her and let her cry.

When the sobs had subsided into quiet weeping, Gibbs finally raised his gaze to look up at the door of the basement, giving Tony a nod of acknowledgement. The younger agent nodded back and waved a little, pausing and looking down at Ziva for a moment, then leaving. Gibbs smiled to himself before turning his attention back to Ziva.

Yes. Tony and Ziva definitely had the potential to be a whole lot more than colleagues or friends. Gibbs just hoped they figured it out sooner rather than later, despite the complications he knew (from personal experience) came with a relationship between two people who worked together. Love was love, after all, and as a man with three ex-wives – all of whom he'd married because he was trying to replace his first, beloved wife, Shannon – he figured he should know.

Ziva finally stirred, the tears having run out and her emotions having run their course, and Gibbs let her pull away to rub at her exhausted eyes and wipe away the dampness of her face. There were two distinctly red spots on her cheeks (the only spots of colour on her otherwise pale face) from embarrassment, and she laughed self-consciously at herself.

"Well. I feel very stupid, now." She said. "I, uh…sorry for getting your shirt all…" she waved in the general direction of his chest.

"Feel any better?" He asked, ignoring the apology. "I really think you needed that."

Ziva shrugged, a jerky, tentative movement that spoke of just how raw she was right now. How vulnerable. Gibbs sighed. He hadn't really expected it to be _all_ better after just that. But it was a start.

"And do I have to repeat myself, or is what I said finally penetrating?"

Her eyes slid up to meet his, before looking away again. "I heard. I get it, Gibbs. I do, it's just…I need time."

"Ah, Ziva." Gibbs brushed some of her hair from her face. "I'm not saying don't grieve. Just the opposite, in fact. I'm only telling you to stop blaming yourself." He raised an eyebrow at her. "Don't make me smack you."

That got a small smile, and with it, Gibbs knew she'd be fine. Eventually.

"Okay. Go home, eat something, get ready, and I'll see you back at NCIS, alright?" Gibbs stepped away from her and tilted his head toward the stairs.

"Yes, Gibbs." Ziva automatically replied, willingly obeying the command in his tone almost unconsciously. She paused at the top of the stairs and looked back down at him over the railing. "Gibbs?"

"Yeah?"

She looked at him for a long moment, then shook her head and waved. "Never mind. I will see you later." She finally said, leaving him alone and only slightly perplexed.

Shrugging, Gibbs heaved a relieved sigh and headed upstairs himself to get ready for what was likely to be a long day.

* * *

Ducky was already waiting with the hearse outside the NCIS building, leaning against the side of his vintage Morgan he'd restored himself. Abby, in all her funeral-Goth glory, stood next to him with her equally vintage Victorian, black lace parasol resting on one shoulder as she waited for her NCIS family to arrive.

Gibbs, after leaving his own car in the parking lot and signing out one of the agency cars, pulled up behind Ducky's Morgan and got out to join them.

"Jethro." Ducky greeted him solemnly. "I would offer you a 'good morning,' but it somehow seems…the wrong occasion."

"Ah, Duck, that's definitely the wrong attitude for the occasion." Gibbs returned, clasping his old friend on the shoulder. "Jenny would demand we have a good morning, because we're all here to enjoy it." Their eyes met briefly, knowledge passing silently between them about Jenny Sheppard that only they had known. "Besides, knowing Jen, she'd come back and haunt us if she thought we were all maudlin or something over her."

Ducky chuckled lightly. "Quite right, Jethro. Well in that case, good morning!"

"Good morning, Ducky."

Abby slipped right up next to Gibbs and cuddled into his side when he obligingly curled an arm around her in a half-hug. "Good morning, Abs." He greeted her softly, noting the sorrow in her expression. She was taking this hard, not unexpectedly after she'd bonded with Jenny to the extent she had.

"Good morning, Gibbs." She replied sadly, but still gamely after what he'd just said to Ducky. She rested her head on his shoulder and sniffed. "I really don't like this, Gibbs. There's been too many funerals lately."

He sighed and turned his head to plant a kiss on her head where it wasn't covered by her hat. "I know, Abs." There wasn't much else he could say or do, so he just let her lean on him for a while.

"Here comes Timothy, now." Ducky announced suddenly, straightening himself and nodding. "Ah, and there are Ziva and Tony, also."

Gibbs dropped his arm from around Abby after a final squeeze of comfort and turned to face his team. He studied them as they hurried toward their boss, noting that both Ziva and Tony looked much better than they had a few hours ago (if a little pale and in need of about a week of sleep, straight), so Gibbs let that worry fall away readily. McGee looked tired, too, but then they all were so it was only to be expected. Still he was probably the only one of them who was truly alert enough for work – which would inevitably be waiting for them after the service.

"Listen up." He barked, taking charge. "Abby can ride with Ducky, and you three are with me." Nods all around. Gibbs motioned to the driver of the hearse (a young man in a suit who was on staff at Arlington and who came with the hearse as provided by the cemetery in Jenny's funeral arrangements). "You, follow Dr. Mallard's car and we'll be on your six. Understood?" The military term was unconscious, but luckily the kid understood – a good thing for someone working at a facility dealing with the military. He nodded and said, "Yes, sir, Agent Gibbs!" before returning to the hearse.

After that, the procession across the Potomac River from the Naval Yard to Arlington was a silent, easy one with – thankfully- little traffic congestion to block them. Of course it helped that most people in D.C. were used to funeral processions and were respectful enough to yield the right of way and let them by.

When they got there, they were directed to the appropriate place, where Gibbs could see a small crowd of mourners already gathered near the open grave, waiting. The procession pulled to a stop near the priest and honour guard, and the NCIS team piled out of the cars. Gibbs met the priest briefly, thanking him and the six men and women of the honour guard for taking the time to do this for their deceased Director. Gibbs had asked the man personally to perform the service. While Gibbs wasn't much of a church-goer, he believed there was a higher power somewhere out there. And though he didn't know the man well, he'd respected his devotion to his chosen career after working a case that the priest (who was in fact a Catholic priest) was associated with. Actually, it had been Kate who had gotten to know the man, but he was pleased Gibbs had asked him to be the one to give the service for Jenny – just as he had for Kate only a few years ago. At the time, Jenny was new to the Director's office, having only been on the job for a few weeks before Kate was killed. The young priest wasn't actually enlisted or an officer, but his parish _was_ a Naval/Marine base, so he was quite familiar with military funerals.

Ducky fell into step beside him as they walked to the grave, DiNozzo and Ziva behind them, and McGee and Abby bringing up the rear. From their place at the graveside, they all watched the honour guard remove Jenny's casket and slowly march it to the grave as a bagpiper played _Amazing Grace_.

The flag covering the casket wasn't a surprise, but after the formal folding of it, the surprise came when it was presented to a man – a Lieutenant Colonel, Gibbs saw – in USAF dress uniform whom Gibbs had not seen before. A slight nudge from DiNozzo drew his attention away, and when Tony mouthed, "Know him?" Gibbs shrugged minutely and shook his head in the negative. The senior agent had to firmly hold back a smile when he caught both McGee and Ziva taking surreptitious pictures with their cell phones of the USAF officer and the people who were standing closest to him. Yes, his team were investigators to the marrow of their bones.

In fact, there were three of the four who were standing very closely to the Lt. Colonel. Gibbs watched covertly, seeing how obviously upset the officer was, and how, when the priest began to speak, the three surrounding him moved in almost protectively. The woman reached for his hand and gripped it tightly, while the man with the receding hairline raised a hand of his own to rest it on the officer's shoulder, leaving it there in support. The big man behind them dropped an equally large hand of his own on the officer's other shoulder and proceeded to glare at anyone who looked at the group, as if daring them to say anything about the officer's grief. It was odd – touching, but odd – and almost amusing.

The forth man, in glasses and an expensive suit, the one hovering on the other side of the woman, didn't get as close as the others but remained in close enough proximity that he was obviously one of their number. They were all an oddly mismatched group, and Gibbs felt a rare streak of curiosity and interest in them beyond the surface questions of identity and how the officer was related to Jenny. He must be, to be given the flag from her casket. Gibbs stared hard at the man, trying to discern any familial likeness, because Jenny had never mentioned any other family members than her father to Gibbs.

If the man noticed the agent's stare, he didn't react – though the dark look from the man beside him was blatantly unfriendly.

At the end of the service, after the casket had been lowered into the grave, the mourners moved forward to pay their last respects, one by one. Gibbs and his people stood off to the side, away from the grave to await their turn at the end. As they watched, taking note of who seemed to be genuinely grieving and who was only there as more of a political courtesy than any sense of loss or even respect for Jenny, DiNozzo stood next to him and asked, "What do we do, boss? Try and find out who the flyboy and his entourage are?"

Ducky, on Gibbs other side, frowned and leaned around Gibbs to look at Tony. "Why would you ever wish to do that, Tony? He hasn't committed a crime by being here." The M.E. glanced over at where the officer was, looking visibly shaken and saying something emphatically to his friends. "He is obviously a relative who seems to have been quite close to Jenny, judging by the emotional reactions he has exhibited – despite all his training as an officer of the military. He is genuinely distraught, Jethro." Ducky said to Gibbs pointedly.

"Well if you want to know, why don't you just go over there, offer your condolences, and ask him?" Abby rolled her eyes, preparing to do just that. "Honestly! You're all supposed to be _agents_, aren't you?"

"I'll do it, boss." McGee volunteered, stepping out from around Ziva and Abby to do so, but stopped when Tony suddenly said, "Uh, boss? He's leaving."

Gibbs watched the Lt. Colonel and three of his people moving very quickly away from the gravesite, the big man and the woman acting more like bodyguards than anything else, while the unfriendly one followed along behind. They all piled into an SUV with darkened windows, but didn't drive off. Gibbs looked back over to see the last of their group – the one in the expensive suit and glasses – standing next to the priest and speaking with the mourners who stopped to offer condolences (and no doubt ask who the officer was).

"A spokesperson for the next of kin?" Ziva speculated quietly.

"Geez, the guy's even got a PR guy? The Air Force must really like this flyboy to spring for that." Tony scoffed. He was, however, correct in his own DiNozzo way. Gibbs' gut was saying the same sort of thing; that whoever this Lt. Colonel was, he was important and into something that warranted a great deal of special treatment. Except for one thing, he agreed with Tony's off-the-wall assessment.

"If that guy was a spokesperson for the USAF, DiNozzo, he'd be in a uniform. He's a civilian."

"Oh. Good point."

Gibbs straightened and glanced at his people, coming to a decision. "Out of curiosity, we're going to check this out. Abby, Ducky, if you would," he added, mostly toward Ducky who was looking a tad disapproving. "Go over and offer our own condolences, and try to find out as much as you can from the PR guy." As an after-thought, Gibbs added, "McGee, stay with them and go back to HQ with them, then start running those people to see what comes up."

"On it, boss!" McGee nodded.

"Ziva and DiNozzo are with me. We'll tail them a bit, see where they go."

"Jethro," Ducky sighed, "Why are you investigating this? Really, it's no business of yours – _ours_ – who the young man is or what he does." Ducky was studying Gibbs searchingly, and when the light bulb went off, he sighed again. "Ah. I see. Your gut is telling you there's something more?"

"Yeah, Duck. Jen never mentioned having any other family: certainly none she was close to, not and to be as upset as that guy is. And there's just something not right going on here." Gibbs said in a low voice. The crowd of mourners was dwindling, and Gibbs turned to Ducky. "Please, Ducky. This once, humour me?"

"Very well. Come along, Abigail, Timothy. We shall endeavour to complete our mission." Ducky ushered the two away.

"Boss?" Tony asked.

"Let's go, DiNozzo, David. Get to the car before they leave." Gibbs fished the keys out of the pocket of his overcoat and casually made his way to the NCIS sedan.


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer:_ The author does not own any of NCIS or Stargate, only borrows them for the sake of this fanfiction. No profit is made by the writing of this story.

_Warnings:_ Anything one expects to see on Stargate or NCIS, expect it here; also, slash in the form of Jack/Daniel, and John/Rodney; het pairings include Tony/Ziva, Gibbs/Jenny.

_If you dislike such things, or are underage, do not read!_

* * *

_Beta kudos to Cryysis!_

**Chapter IV**

The funeral had been – in a word – excruciating. John didn't think he'd felt this awful since…well, after Afghanistan. Although killing Sumner and waking up the Wraith came real close, that was all more guilt than grief. Even losing Elizabeth and Carson, despite how close he'd been to them, hadn't quite felt like this.

Through most of the service, he'd felt nauseous and shaky, worse than the hangover of a Wraith stunner-blast. When he was presented the flag from the casket, John had to swallow back the bile a few times, and if it hadn't been for his team closing into his personal space with hands on his shoulders, and Teyla's hand gripping his free one, he might just have let his knees buckle right out from under him. As they'd lowered Jenny into the grave, he wanted to leap forward and scream at them not to do it, not to put her in the ground because she wasn't dead, couldn't be dead… When the bugler played TAPS (Jenny had been law enforcement, after all), John wanted to curl up and die, too. It was all so completely irrational, but he just couldn't seem to help himself.

When it was finally over, John saw the approaching crowd of mourners and gave in to the panic that suddenly rushed up from his churning gut.

"Rodney, god, I can't do this." He practically moaned it, and from the startled, worried look his friend gave him, he guessed he'd probably just scared him, too. Because he wasn't acting much like his team had come to expect him to act.

"John?" Rodney leaned in lose, hand on his forearm in an attempt to steady the man, feeling the tremors of tension under his touch. "What is it?"

"The people…I can't do this, Rodney. Get me out of here!"

Blue eyes widened, flickering to the first of the approaching mourners and back. Grim understanding and determination set in, and Rodney nodded abruptly. "Right. We're going. Teyla, Ronon."

"Yes." Teyla acknowledged, then she and Ronon flanked John immediately while Rodney looked over toward where Daniel was standing, speaking to the priest.

"Daniel!" He called, and when the archaeologist turned to look at him, Rodney signed that they were heading for the Jeep. "Keys?"

The archaeologist hurried over and dropped the keys in Rodney's hands. "Go. I'll handle this."

Nodding once abruptly, Rodney shooed Teyla and Ronon along with their leader boxed in by the three of them. "Thanks. We owe you one." Rodney said gruffly, trudging quickly after his team before Daniel could reply.

Teyla sat in front again, as Ronon took the very back seats for himself. After John climbed in and slid over at Rodney's none-too-gentle shove, the scientist got in, closing and locking the doors. He turned immediately to his friend, barking, "Take a breath, hold it, then let it out slowly, Sheppard, before you hyperventilate." He could see the pallor and fine trembling, hear the shaky, gasping pants for air, and he knew exactly what a panic attack was like. He also knew John was unlikely to just obey without some sort of firm, no-nonsense tone.

Rodney narrowed his eyes when John looked about to protest. "For once, just shut up and do what I tell you. Good." He relented a little when the officer did as he was told. "Do it again, and keep doing it until the worst of it passes." He reached over, thinking to pat John on the knee in reassurance (somewhat awkwardly, since comforting others was _not_ his strong suit), but John grabbed his hand instead and gripped it like a lifeline, startling Rodney. However, seeing that it was helping, Rodney bit back a protest (token as it would be) and let him keep hold of it.

"Rodney?" Teyla murmured his name in question. He flicked a glance at her, but only long enough to acknowledge he'd heard. His focus remained on John.

"He's fine, Teyla. Well, relatively. It's a panic attack. He just needs to calm down and get his breathing under control again." Rodney squeezed John's hand. "Better?" He asked, eyeing the officer carefully, looking for any more signs of distress.

John took another deep breath and nodded, colour rushing up into his cheeks – even to his ears – with embarrassment. "Yeah. God, I'm so sorry. I don't know what that was!"

"Don't apologize. You hoard all your stress and emotions like Scrooge McDuck hoards his money. Eventually it was gonna vent." Rodney brushed aside the apology. "Be glad it was just a mild panic attack and not something more serious. I don't think General O'Neill would be too happy if I called him to tell him you'd gone berserk or something."

The idea was so ridiculous to John that he actually laughed. It made Rodney relax a little in relief, but that didn't last long when John's laugh turned sort of hysterical and sobbing. Not really sure what to do, Rodney urged the officer to lean forward and put his head down between his knees, rubbing his back and shoulders in what Rodney hoped was a soothing manner. He gave Teyla a "Help!" look, and the Athosian just smiled and shook her head.

She thought he was doing just fine, and believed John would not be so welcoming of anyone else's touch or comfort right now. Rodney's expression was pained, but it was entirely overshadowed by his concern for John. A glance toward the back of the vehicle at Ronon was equally reassuring. The Satedan was calm and unconcerned, if a little sympathetic, but not otherwise taking the out-pouring of emotion from Sheppard badly. He caught her looking, and shrugged, deciding to speak up himself.

"McKay's right, Sheppard. If you don't let it out now it'll eat at you like poison. Get it all out so you can put it aside and move on. For your cousin." Ronon's voice was uncharacteristically soft. "She needs you to fight for her, now, and you can't do that if you're so mired in your grief you can't see past it."

Under Rodney's hand he could feel muscles twitching and shuddering with tension as John reacted to Ronon's words. He wept silently, probably for the first real time since he was just a little boy. The last five or six years worth of loss and anger and pain just seemed to fuel his tears, and he couldn't seem to stop. But through it all, Rodney's presence was solid, warm, and reassuring, and the hand on his back never lifted. It grounded him when he would otherwise fly apart in pieces, and he unconsciously leaned into that source of strength.

Eventually his body ran out of tears and the crying jag came to a halt. The occasional hiccoughing sigh made him shiver, but otherwise he was _so_ done with crying. He bent forward, arms resting on his knees, and let his head hang down to hide his embarrassed, and no doubt messy, face from his team.

John blinked blearily when he felt his cap lift off his head and strong, nimble fingers dove into his hair to rub at his scalp. It was a pleasant warmth that tingled through his system at the gesture, and even though he shouldn't allow it, he made no move to remove Rodney's hand. He didn't even stop to wonder when Rodney had gotten touchy-feely or thought such an intimate touch was copasetic.

A tissue was shoved under his nose and he took it, using it immediately as he sat up. "Thanks." He muttered, sounding horribly stuffed up. "Sorry."

"Apologize again and I'll make you play light switch everyday for a month when we get back home." Rodney threatened, swatting him upside the head lightly. "I have a whole _lab_ full of things I haven't had the chance to test out, you know."

John gave a smile – small and weak, but still a smile. Rodney huffed and handed him another tissue.

"Daniel is returning." Teyla informed them from the front, reaching over to unlock the driver's door.

"Good. Let's get back to the General's so we can get out of these suits." Rodney made a face. He'd never been comfortable in formal wear.

Daniel slid in and shut the door, turning slightly toward John and Rodney. "Everything alright?"

John rubbed at his face, nodding. He figured he probably looked as awful as he still kind of felt. "I'm sorry to have left you to do that, Daniel. I owe you a big one."

Daniel flashed a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, John. It was part of the reason I came along, after all. I'm just glad you're feeling better."

"Still…thank you."

"Can we go now?" Rodney complained, not realizing his hand was still cupping the base of John's neck and stroking the soft hairs there. Thankfully, if Daniel noticed (or cared) he didn't show it or comment.

"Absolutely. Keys?"

"Oh, right." Rodney blinked as he removed his hand from John to reach into his pocket for the keys, then flushed deeply as he handed them over, realizing where that hand had been. "Uh…"

John shook his head and nudged him with an elbow. "It's fine, Rodney."

Bewildered, Rodney said weakly, "If you say so." He couldn't believe he'd done that. He hadn't even thought about it, he'd just reached out and…and…_petted_ John like he was Rodney's cat – and John didn't seem to care!

Daniel started up the Jeep and put on his seatbelt. "So the NCIS people seemed very nice. They were very surprised to learn you are Jenny's cousin, John."

He shrugged, slouching back into his seat. "She was a private person. She didn't like sharing much of her personal life with everyone around her, so that doesn't surprise me."

"Were you able to learn anything new from them, Daniel?" Teyla asked.

"Nothing very relevant, unfortunately." Daniel grimaced as he drove, heading for the cemetery exit. "I hardly got a word in edge-wise, between the three of them asking questions." He looked vaguely amused for a moment, pulling out into traffic. "They're good. Really good."

John frowned a bit. "What did they ask, and what did you tell them?"

"Oh, mostly it was about you – who you are, how you know Jenny, where you are stationed, that sort of thing. All I told them was the truth mixed with just a little untruth." Daniel chuckled softly. "Jack's been a bad influence, teaching me how to lie believably."

"Gave them the standard cover story, huh?" Rodney nodded and crossed his arms. "Good. It's as far as they'd get doing a check on any of us anyway."

"Yeah. They asked about me, too. They wanted to know why a civilian linguist was working for the USAF and speaking on your behalf." Daniel rolled his eyes a little. "Particularly one working at Cheyenne Mountain."

"They're investigators. It's what they do." John didn't really care if they asked. The programme's security would put a halt to any further inquiries anyway. "Who did you speak to? Agent Gibbs?"

"No, actually, he wasn't with them. It was their Medical Examiner, Dr. Mallard, their lab-tech, Abby Sciuto, and their Jr. Agent, Timothy McGee." Daniel replied. They were stopped at a red light. "I didn't see where the other three went."

"They're two cars behind us." Ronon's deep voice rumbled from the back seat.

"What?" Everyone glanced back at him then out the back window to try and see for themselves.

"They've been behind us since we left the cemetery." Ronon added, helpfully.

Rodney gave him a withering glare (ineffectual on the big man, but it seemed like the thing to do anyway), then looked puzzled. "Why are they following us? We haven't done anything."

"They must be really curious. Or really bored." John sighed. He didn't need this.

Daniel pulled out his cell phone and passed it back to John. "Speed dial 1 is Jack. Better call and ask what he wants to do."

"Yeah." John obliged, pushing buttons. "Keep an eye on the car, Ronon."

The Satedan gave him a mildly dirty look, a 'what do you think I'm doing?' sort of stare.

When the General answered, John quickly explained. O'Neill was silent a moment, then said, "Let 'em follow. They won't learn much. Just come back to the house so we can decide our next step. And were you a Black Ops-trained soldier or not, Sheppard?"

The last was asked a touch grouchily.

"Yes, sir." John replied, taking the rebuke for what it was. O'Neill believed he could handle it, so he would. He was being told to get his head back in the game. "On our way, sir."

"Oh, and tell Daniel to pick up more beer. I'm running low."

John blinked and stared at the phone as O'Neill hung up on him before John could respond. "He really is succinct, isn't he?"

"Sometimes way too much, the ass." Daniel agreed, his brow furrowing in exasperation. "What did he want us to do?"

"Um, let them follow and pick up more beer." John told him apologetically.

Rodney couldn't help snickering.

* * *

Gibbs watched two of them get out of the Jeep and go into a liquor store. He'd found a good spot just a few cars away on the other side of the street to sit and watch the USAF vehicle and its occupants.

Beside him, Ziva made a frustrated noise and lowered her binoculars. "I cannot see who is still in the vehicle, Gibbs. The windows are too dark."

"They're in a fleet car. It's got tinted windows. And what? Did you expect one of them to roll out of the car while moving? They're all still in there, Ziva." DiNozzo said from the backseat, sounding a tad bored. "Hey, boss, want me to go in and pick us up some…"

"No, DiNozzo."

Tony sighed. "Didn't think so. Too bad. I could use a beer."

"We are on duty, Tony." Ziva reminded him primly.

"So?"

"DiNozzo, if you want to be useful, call McGee and see what he found out so far." Gibbs cut off the argument before it could even start, not in the mood.

"On it, boss!" Tony whipped out his cell and dialled. Once McGee answered, Tony put him on speaker. "Spill it, McGoogle! What'd ya find?"

"Nothing much." The reply was a mix of apology and frustration. "All I could get on the Lt. Colonel was pretty much the same things that the linguist with him – that's Dr. Daniel Jackson, Tony's 'PR' guy, by the way – told Ducky, Abby, and I when we asked."

"Which was?" Ziva asked.

"Director Sheppard was Lt. Colonel John Sheppard's first cousin by their fathers, for one." McGee began to rattle off all that he'd found. "And they – Jenny and John - were pretty close, from what Dr. Jackson insinuated. Lt. Colonel Sheppard is a USAF Special Operations pilot, currently assigned to the Cheyenne Mountain Complex in Colorado Springs. When we asked, Dr. Jackson said they were all working there, some civilian and some military personnel. He said their primary work is with…" McGee paused, and his voice turned somewhat confused and sceptical, "…deep-space telemetry. Whatever that is, exactly. He said it's an international group now, as the more they got into it, the more they realized they needed experts from outside the US."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow at the information, and grunted his acknowledgment.

"What about this Jackson guy? And the others?" Tony asked for him. Gibbs nodded and watched as their targets came out of the liquor store with a couple of cases of beer and some other bags full of unknown purchases.

"Well, he's a linguist alright. PhD in philology. He's also an anthropologist and an archaeologist, PhDs in both – and something of a pariah among his academic circles. However, the only information I could get on him is _at least_ 11 or 12 years old. But boss," McGee directed his next statement to Gibbs, "there's a whole lot more fishiness about this. I ran facial recognition on the other three, and only one of them got a hit. Here's the hinky parts: the woman and the really big guy in dreads don't seem to exist. I mean _at all_. Abby and I have been running them through every database we could think of and nada. And the one we did find? His file came back with minimal data and the same work location, only this guy is a real, honest-to-god Genius with a capital G. He's got three PhDs, too, like Jackson, only this guy – Dr. Rodney McKay – is a theoretical astrophysicist with doctorates in that, Mathematics, and Electrical and Computer Engineering." This said with no little amount of awe (McGee and his MIT Masters in Computer Forensics and BSc in Biomedical Engineering from Johns Hopkins not quite on par with what McKay apparently had). "Whatever they're doing, boss, out there in Colorado, it's huge."

"No, _really_, McGee." Gibbs said dryly. "Anything else?" He carefully let the other vehicle get a couple cars ahead, then pulled a U-turn to follow.

"I don't think you understand just how big this seems to be." McGee stated, a hint of apology in his voice for possibly sounding like he was questioning his boss' intelligence (or Ziva's and Tony's). "When I tried to look up Sheppard's service record, I didn't just get the usual warnings and flags and walls we normally find, I ran into security the likes of which I have _never_ seen. I got the same when I tried going deeper on Jackson and McKay – and it was worse there because they're civilians! Heck, McKay isn't even American!"

"Really?" Tony sounded surprised. "What is he then?"

"Canadian. Actually, his file had one familiar flag. It was CIA." McGee added before anyone could ask.

"The CIA has a file on a Canadian astrophysicist?" Ziva repeated, bewildered. "Did you find out why?"

"No. Uh…I didn't know if you wanted me to go to Director Vance and ask him to get the files from either the Air Force or CIA, boss."

Gibbs scowled, but agreed. "No, McGee. Not yet, anyway. We really have no reason to _want_ to know beyond curiosity, so we probably would get told where to stick it."

"Yeah, right after they stopped laughing." Tony grumbled behind him. "Hey, this is a pretty swank neighbourhood, boss."

They were in an upscale area of Alexandria, one Gibbs knew housed a lot of VIPs from the Pentagon and other high-powered government offices. "McGee, you and Abby keep looking as far as you can without stepping on any toes. We'll be back on base in an hour, should Vance ask." Gibbs ordered, slowing to keep far enough behind the other SUV, which was also slowing and preparing to make a turn.

"Bye, McGee!" Tony said cheerfully and hung up on the younger agent. "Wow. Gated community. Whoever they're going to see must have some extra dough to throw around."

"One of the Doctors, perhaps?" Ziva speculated aloud.

"Doubt it. Not when they're supposed to be working out of Colorado." Tony denied.

Gibbs had a much easier (and quicker) way of finding out. He gave it a couple minutes, then turned into the entrance and pulled up to the security gate. He took out his ID and rolled the window down as a guard leaned out the window of his booth.

"Good afternoon, sir. Name of the person you're visiting and ID, please?" The guard requested politely.

"Gibbs. NCIS." Gibbs flashed his badge and ID. "We're following the people in the vehicle that just passed through. It would be really helpful if you'd let us through." He said with as much charm as he ever allowed himself to use, which was rare but something he certainly possessed.

The guard frowned unhappily. "I really don't think…"

"Look, we're just running surveillance, son. We don't intend to intrude or bother anyone." Gibbs tried, talking over the man who looked like he'd rather not be involved.

"I could lose my job, sir."

"We're federal agents, friend." Ziva glared at him, leaning around Gibbs to do so. "You are hindering a federal investigation." She wasn't above lying a little to get what they needed.

He was obviously torn, but also wavering, so Gibbs pushed a little harder. "If anyone complains, they can complain to me and to my director. So just let us through, son."

The guard hesitated some more, but then nodded, raising the barrier and opening the gate so they could pass through.

"Thank you." Ziva said, bestowing a smile on the poor guard. "One other thing: could you tell us who they are here to see?"

Sighing, the guard consulted his clipboard. "Dr. Jackson signed in for General O'Neill, Agents."

"Okay. Thank you." Ziva sat back in her seat smugly, and Gibbs nodded at the guard before driving through the gate. Before Gibbs could even ask, Tony was on his cell feeding the name to McGee to run a search on it.

They drove through the community slowly, looking for the Jeep, until Ziva pointed and exclaimed, "There!"

After he found a good spot with a view of the Jeep and the townhouse it was parked in front of, Gibbs parked, turned off the engine, and took the binoculars from Ziva to assess the place.

* * *

Daniel sipped at his coffee and stared out the window of Jack's study. "Yep. They're there."

Jack rolled his eyes. "I swear federal agents are as bad as reporters! Always wanting to know _everything_." He tilted his head questioningly at his partner. "Think they'll stay long?"

Daniel shrugged and pulled up a seat in front of Jack's desk, raising his sock-feet to prop them on one corner of the desk (disregarding Jack's scowl). "Nah. They really have no justification for it. I'm sure NCIS will be wondering where they are soon enough and they'll have to leave."

"Right. Good. I really didn't want to have to make up some kind of story for them, or better – have to call whoever their Director is now to complain."

"You worry too much, Jack."

"Do not."

"Do."

"Not!"

"Do!"

"_Not_! And anyway, we're going to have to talk to them eventually." Jack picked up a crossword puzzle from his desk, fiddling with a pencil. He glanced toward the door. "How'd the funeral go?"

"As well as can be expected. John didn't want to stick around to talk to people afterward – not that I blame him, 'cause I sure wouldn't want to have to put up with people's questions and curiosity." Daniel huffed, cradling his giant mug in his hands. "He'll be fine, though. I think that was the worst part of it for him."

"People were actually insensitive enough to ask questions? Geez." Jack made a face. "What'd they want to know?"

"Oddly enough, I guess she wasn't very forthcoming about her family to others, because most people were very surprised to learn she had a cousin. Even the NCIS people didn't know." Daniel told him about the conversation (re: inquisition) with Dr. Mallard, Abby, and McGee. "They were very nice, polite, and sympathetic, though."

Jack grunted, mulling over Daniel's report on the events of the morning. Staring at his window as if he could see the NCIS agents in their car from his seat at the desk, he had the unsettling premonition that this was going to be one of those missions where he wished he'd never gotten out of bed in the morning. Looking back at the man who had once not only saved his life but changed it, Jack asked his opinion of Sheppard's condition. There was no one the former SG1 leader trusted more, after all. "And Sheppard?"

It spoke to how much they thought on the same wavelength that Daniel understood what the older officer wanted to know. "I don't think he's going to lose his rationality and go cowboy or something, if that's what you mean. I do think he's going to be running on anger, though, and that's always tricky." He dropped his feet and walked around the desk to Jack's side, perching on the edge next to the man in his chair. "But I'm not worried. Not only does John have Teyla and Ronon, but he has Rodney."

"What do you mean?"

Daniel gave him a small grin that was a cross between amusement and smugness. "You have your geek, General, and John has his, whether or not either of them have admitted it yet. And they have formidable support in their Pegasus teammates."

Both eyebrows went up and Jack gaped in surprise. "Sheppard and…McKay? Really?" The concept was a bit strange to consider, what with McKay's known obsession with Sam Carter.

"Yes, Jack." Daniel chuckled and leaned down and over to plant a fond smack of a kiss on Jack's stunned mouth. He blinked up at Daniel, somewhat speechless, then sighed and reached for his partner.

"That boy really _loves_ making his life complicated…" He grumbled, trying to convince Daniel to move closer so he could…well, whatever came naturally. "And I thought McKay had a thing for…"

"Sam?" Daniel rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, though he didn't push Jack's hands off his hip and thigh. "Being infatuated is different than being in love, and you know it. Especially as you once had a 'thing' for Sam, too. Remember?"

Jack looked sheepish for a moment, then shrugged, leering at Daniel. "Yes, but you know where I'd rather be any day, right?"

"Stop that. You look ridiculous." Daniel unfolded his arms and reached out to run his fingers through Jack's soft, silvered hair. "If I didn't know, Jack, would I be here?"

All in all, the General couldn't help but smile with complete contentedness. Yeah, he was the luckiest damn bastard in the universe.

* * *

By the time John and the others came back down from changing out of their funeral clothes, Mitchell had beamed back down and was waiting for them with Daniel and O'Neill in the General's study.

And their NCIS shadows had gone away.

"Hey." Mitchell greeted them. "Made some new friends, I hear."

Rodney's response was an undignified snort, though John just shrugged and nodded.

"Well, now that you're all here..." Cameron glanced at his CO. "Mind if we borrow a TV, sir?"

Jack reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a remote, handing it over and pointing at the medium-sized plasma screen over in one corner.

"Thanks. We picked this up on-board _Odyssey_ from monitoring news reports about the Director's death. Thought you'd want to see it." Mitchell turned on the TV and flipped channels until he came to a news station. At the moment, the weatherman was giving the mid-day forecast for the week, but soon after it returned to the news and Cameron hiked the volume as the reporter came on.

"_I'm standing outside the burned out shell of what was once a historic building of residence to Washington D.C., and the home of NCIS Director Jenny Sheppard. As of now, we are unsure as to the cause of the devastating fire, but we have been told that the body of the Director was found among the ruins and that she died from smoke inhalation. NCIS has issued a formal statement that was handed out to the press early this morning. Leon Vance, formerly the Assistant Director of the agency, has been named Director in Ms. Sheppard's place, and will assume all duties immediately. Fire inspectors,_" the camera panned off to the side slowly, taking in the taped off area and the men and women in uniforms who were still poking around the yet smoking and blackened building, "_are making a thorough search to determine what, exactly, caused this tragedy, but sources say that it is very likely a gas leak of some kind was the culprit. More on this story on the evening news hour. Back to you, Jed._"

Mitchell turned off the TV.

John sat there, stunned. "What the hell?" was all he could say.

"Yeah. We had no idea about any of this." Mitchell agreed with the sentiment. "So add another couple of mysteries to the pile: who would burn down the house and why, and who was the body they found in the wreckage?"

"And not only that." Rodney tossed out, waving at the TV – though his eyes kept darting to Sheppard in clear concern. "But also, what does NCIS have to do with it?"

Everyone looked at him.

"Whatever do you mean, Rodney?" Teyla asked. "I do not see why they would destroy a person's home like that – especially when they seem to have cared so much for her."

"No, not that!" Rodney shook his head. "Well, maybe it _was_ them...but what I meant was if they identified the body from the fire as the Director, then who did we just bury in Arlington? Or," he continued as eyes went wide all around him – and John went very, very pale, "if it really was Ms. Sheppard in that casket today, then it means NCIS is covering up the cause of her death, because the timing of the fire was well after they supposedly found the Director in that diner – all the way over on the West Coast, I might remind you."

"My god, Jack." Daniel gasped. "He's right. NCIS would have to have known which body was which, and would almost have to know about this fire."

Jack sat silently for a moment, staring at his desk as he mulled it over. He sighed heavily and ran his fingers through his hair. "What a fucking mess." He groaned, glancing at Teyla. "Pardon me."

She inclined her head, smiling a little. "I have heard much worse, General."

John finally spoke up, his voice very carefully neutral. "Sir, the only way we're going to get any answers at this point is to go to NCIS and demand them. I'll take my team with me, and I'll ask nicely. At first." His face was set in stone, but his eyes were dark, deep hazel. "I'll ask as her cousin and surviving relative."

Jack leaned back in his chair, hardened brown eyes watching him all too closely and clearly. "And if they won't talk? Because they'll likely play the National Security card."

"If so then I'll go to SecNav, the Joint Chiefs, hell! I'll bang on the Whitehouse doors if I have to." John declared vehemently, sitting up straight as a ruler in his determination. The General winced at the idea of John making a huge ruckus with the top brass so carelessly and hastily intervened.

"Okay, alright, calm down, Sheppard. That won't be necessary. You just let _me_ rattle people's chains if it comes down to it. You don't need the hit on your career."

John sat stiffly, almost coming to attention as he realized how close to being insubordinate he was becoming. "Sir."

Jack looked at Mitchell. "Go back to Odyssey for now, Colonel. Continue to monitor the media reports and communications, and stay ready to assist. I'm sure Sheppard will yell if he needs something."

"Yes, sir." Mitchell left the remote on Jack's desk before having himself beamed out.

Jack pushed away from his desk and stood. When Sheppard began to rise, the General pointed at the chair. "You, sit!" He barked, though not harshly. "The rest of you out. Daniel, call Davis and let him know about the fire."

Glancing back and forth between his partner and the younger officer, Daniel hesitated only for a moment before ushering the others from the room. Jack followed and closed the door to his study behind them, then returned to where John sat with a worried look of confusion on his face. With a sigh at the protest of one knee (the one that ached most in concert with the weather), Jack dropped himself down into an armchair opposite John, looking at him silently. Consideringly. Unsure and uncomfortable under that gaze, John fought not to fidget, until he finally asked, "Sir?" tentatively, as if he wasn't sure he wanted to.

"I know when Elizabeth pestered me to assign you to the Expedition – and to her – that you'd find your place in Pegasus and prove not only to me, or Weir, or to any of the brass with their eyes on you, but also to _yourself_ that you were truly the leader you're capable of being."

John blinked at him startled. He hadn't known what to expect, but this certainly hadn't even been a possibility. Jack continued.

"You're a damn good pilot, Sheppard, one of the very best I know. More, you're one of the best men I've had the pleasure and honour to command and serve with. I won't lie and say that I was totally sure of you from the very moment I read your file, because that wouldn't be true. Unfortunate, but true. But then, I didn't know _you_, only what your record says about you, and while it's fairly comprehensive, it doesn't tell all of the truly important things I like to know about the people whose lives I'm required to make life and death decisions over. I think by now you get that my command style is nothing like what most Generals would have – or _should_ have. It's personal, with me, and that's been both a curse and a blessing sometimes. Since the moment I was recalled to active duty, and they told me about that big stone ring, and then Daniel telling us that it was a gateway to other planets...It's been personal. That fact has bitten me on the ass more times than I'd like to remember." Jack's face looked weary and sad, and John wondered briefly if he ever regretted staying with the programme as long as he had. "So if you think I don't understand what you _are_ feeling right now, think again. And don't bullshit me and pretend you're not feeling the anger, the need for vengeance, and probably guilt, too. I've been there. Every time one of my people – especially my team – was injured, infected, possessed, kidnapped...shit, _died_ for god's sake, I'd go through all those emotions and more. Sometimes I was able to do something about it. A lot of times, not so much. The real test of command comes when it's time to send your people back through that Gate and let them fly on their own again after a mission that goes wrong. We're expected, as officers, to be able to detach and remain as removed from the situation as possible in order to make the correct, pertinent decisions that would save the most lives. No matter the rank."

John looked down at his hands in his lap, saying only, "But the job we all do is like no other posting ever, sir, and we can't be expected to be commanded or to command in the same way as others would."

"See, now, this is why I like you, John." Jack slapped his leg in emphasis, and John looked up again suddenly at the use of his given name, eyes wide. "You're smart in the ways that matter most when it comes to the work and the life that Gate has brought with it. You are, in fact, very much like myself – which is probably why Daniel seems to think I've taken you under my wing, so to speak." Clearly Jack thought the linguist was either really full of it or reading something into it that wasn't there. "But anyway. What I'm trying to get at here, is that you've come into your own as an officer, as a commander, and as a man who has finally found something worth protecting. And I don't just mean Atlantis.

"There have been a lot of naysayers trying to oust you over the years, but I refused to let them have their way. I fought for you, John, because I believed you were truly fit for the job. Then, too, I understand a little about guilt, and pride, and all those things I really suck at talking about." Jack made a face (John understood _that_ all too well, himself) and continued. "You needed a chance to make things 'right' out there, even if you were not at fault. Aht! Don't argue with me." Jack waggled a finger pointedly. "I know you'll probably never stop blaming yourself for the Wraith, or even for Sumner, but the rest of us never blamed you. So just accept it and move on."

"Sir," John shook his head, "not that I don't appreciate what you've said or anything, but...I think I'm missing a point in here somewhere."

"I haven't gotten there, yet." Jack motioned expressively with one hand. "But I'll be brief. I know Jenny was the one who used all her connections to get you McMurdo instead of a dishonourable discharge after Afghanistan. I know that despite the huge family rifts going on between your father and hers, and between your father and yourself, that she was the closest to you and vice versa. So I know what all this must be doing to you. You're grieving, and you're angry. I know a lot about that, too. I've watched Daniel die a few hundred too many times, not to mention when my son...shot himself with my gun accidently when he was eight years old." John sucked in a harsh breath at that, having not known that of the General. "Yeah. But my point – at the risk of sounding like Teal'c or one of Daniel's glowy Zen moments – is that you can't let the rage rule you or your actions. You've got to make it work _for_ you. I want you to keep in mind that ruining your career is _not_ helpful to your cause, nor would your cousin appreciate you ruining all her hard work."

Flushing, John stared down at the floor, unable to look at Jack in the eyes. "I do know that, sir. Really."

"You'd better, Sheppard. Don't make me regret going to bat for you." Jack sighed. "I suck at these things. We ought to just get really drunk instead."

John nodded fervently in agreement.

"Alright. Go get your team ready and take the Jeep to NCIS. I'll clear the way so you won't have trouble getting inside." Jack pushed himself up out of his seat and headed for the phone on his desk, waving the younger officer away.

"Yes, sir." John got up, too, then paused and faced his superior officer when Jack called him back.

"One last thing. I know you want to jump into the action and knock a few heads together, but try to remember that you're not alone anymore. You have more than just yourself to think of. You have three very loyal and protective teammates at your back who only want to help you. Don't forget that, and don't forget to let them."

"Sir." John nodded slowly, then seemed to draw himself up as if coming to some determined conclusion. He snapped to attention and gave a perfect, sincere salute. Jack blinked and returned it just as sincerely (if a tad less text-book), a tiny crinkling at the corners of his eyes the only sign of a smile. He watched John leave bemusedly, scratching his ear thoughtfully, knowing that such a gesture was very rarely given by Sheppard to his superior officers freely, certainly not with much degree of genuine respect.

"Huh." Jack muttered to himself, mouth twitching into a grin. Shrugging, he picked up his phone.


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer:_ The author does not own any of NCIS or Stargate, only borrows them for the sake of this fanfiction. No profit is made by the writing of this story.

_Warnings:_ Anything one expects to see on Stargate or NCIS, expect it here; also, slash in the form of Jack/Daniel, and John/Rodney; het pairings include Tony/Ziva, Gibbs/Jenny.

_If you dislike such things, or are underage, do not read!_

* * *

_Beta credit goes to Emergency70! Everyone thank her for helping Kali to get this out._

**Chapter V**

NCIS Headquarters  
1400 hrs.

Ziva, Tony, McGee, Abby, and Ducky stood around the plasma screen TV, watching the news report about Jenny Sheppard's home and the fire that destroyed it.

"I find this whole mess very distasteful." Ducky shook his head, turning away. He knew it couldn't be helped, but he still wished such necessities needn't exist in their world. He saw Jethro grab the remote from his desk and turn the screen off, the frown on his face not quite hiding the knowledge and guilt from the doctor over that fire – someone who knew Gibbs for too long and too well to be fooled. "Jethro..."

"Leave it be, Duck." Gibbs warned, though not without gentleness. "It's done, and she's gone. Let's get back to work." That was clearly aimed at his team of agents – who scurried away to their desks to try and look busy.

Abby left them to it, heading back to her lab muttering something about a date with Major Mass-Spec (the name she so colourfully dubbed one of her many high-tech forensic analysis gizmos). Ducky sighed and decided he wouldn't pester his old friend until later, perhaps over a bottle of his best scotch that he'd been storing for just such an occasion.

Gibbs sat at his own desk, reaching for the files left on it that contained potential cases – please God let there be something in one of them for his team – and pretending he didn't notice the concerned and curiously questioning glances Tony, Ziva, and McGee kept shooting at him.

He'd only nixed three of the files when Vance's voice called out from the walkway above the MCRT bullpen, "Agent Gibbs!"

Gibbs stood, even as he looked up at the new Director. "Yes, sir?"

"My office." Vance ordered, moving away from the railing outside the door to MTAC and disappearing from view.

"Boss?" Tony inquired.

"Don't know." Gibbs answered, striding past and heading for the stairs.

Up in Vance's office, Gibbs closed the doors at the man's nod and stood in front of his desk attentively. "Something come up?" He asked.

"I'm sincerely hoping not, but that's probably a pipe dream." Vance glowered. "I talked to an Air Force General requesting permission for a Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard and three associates to be allowed onto the premises. The main gate just informed me of their arrival. The General said Sheppard is here to speak with the agents involved in his cousin's case."

Gibbs just barely managed to hide his surprise. He hadn't expected the man to come asking questions – at least not so soon. Not after the emotional response the officer had shown at the funeral. "Really. Well if Jenny was family, then of course he'd want to know what happened."

"Oh sure. But what's tripped my alarm bells is that the Air Force have been nosing around the Pentagon asking a lot of questions about this whole situation. They have no reason to be doing so, and I have to wonder if this Lt. Col. Sheppard is here for himself or for the Air Force." Vance eyed Gibbs, very plainly not amused. "I don't know exactly what the woman was into, and frankly I don't think I want to. But SecNav is beginning to get impatient with all the poking into Naval business. He wants to know why they care so he can chew out the appropriate parties."

"Well with all due respect to SecNav," Gibbs drawled, "I can't tell him anything he doesn't already know. That mission was top secret. SecNav would have to be read in on the mission by someone farther up the food chain than himself, as he wasn't SecNav when the mission happened. One of the Joint Chiefs, perhaps?"

"Can you at least confirm that the mission was through this agency?" Vance asked, scowling at Gibbs' lack of cooperation.

"Leon, I've never worked for any _other_ agency than NCIS and you know it." Gibbs scowled right back. "I know damn well you've read my uncensored file by now."

Snorting, Vance picked up his phone when it buzzed. "Yes, Cynthia?" He spoke to his assistant.

"Lt. Col. Sheppard and his party are on their way up, sir."

"Thank you." Vance hung up. "Bring them up to the conference room, Gibbs. Let's find out what's going on."

On that, Gibbs could agree. "Ten minutes at the most, sir." He assured, heading for the door.

* * *

A bored Tony was surfing the internet when the elevator doors chimed and out came John Sheppard and his entourage – minus the PR guy, Jackson. Tony clicked off the browser and stood up, moving on an intercept course. Ziva looked up, about to ask where he was going, when he spoke.

"Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. Can I help you?" He introduced himself, pouring on the charm with an easy smile as he extended a hand and took in the civilian clothes the group had changed into.

"Agent." Sheppard nodded and gripped the offered hand briefly but didn't actually shake. "My friends and I are here to speak to your Director about the death of my cousin."

Tony was about to respond, glancing at Ziva (who'd come up beside him), when Gibbs' voice from on high interrupted. "Tony, take our guests to the conference room." To Sheppard, he continued, "Special Agent Gibbs, Colonel. Director Vance will be with you momentarily."

If Sheppard was surprised that he knew his rank – and thus his name – he gave no sign of it. Neither did any of the others, though the frowning Dr. McKay frowned a bit more. Sheppard just inclined his head in acknowledgement and looked back to Tony.

"On it, boss! Follow me, Colonel." Tony led the way, shooting a quick look up at Gibbs as he passed by the stairs on the way to the other elevator.

"Ziva, McGee." Gibbs leaned over the rail a bit and motioned for the other two team members to join him. "With me." He waited for them to climb the stairs and led them to stand near the door to MTAC. "Vance says the Air Force is poking around about the situation. We don't know why. Be aware of that when we're in there talking to this guy and his friends."

"We, boss?" McGee inquired, curiously.

"You two and Tony are invited to the party, McGee. I want the three of you to watch the other three, try to figure out what part they have in this."

"You do not believe that they are with the Colonel for support as his friends?" Ziva discerned.

"Not entirely, no. Something's off." Gibbs admitted. "Tell Tony."

"Yes, boss." McGee pulled out his iPhone and sent Tony a quick text message, even as he walked.

"Come." Gibbs led them to the conference room, where Vance and Tony were waiting with Sheppard and company.

* * *

"Agent Gibbs, Agent McGee, Officer David...this is Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, Dr. Rodney McKay, Teyla Emmagan, and Ronon Dex." Vance made the introductions as if his people didn't know already. "Col. Sheppard, Gibbs is my most senior and trusted agent, and is our Major Case Response Team's supervisor. His team, here," Vance indicated the others, "also includes our Medical Examiner, Dr. Donald Mallard, and our Forensic Lab Technician, Abigail Sciuto."

Sheppard nodded at them all in greeting, though he and McKay had both focused on Ziva simultaneously.

"Officer?" Rodney repeated.

"David." Sheppard studied her, a spark of interest showing in his otherwise neutral expression. "As in Mossad Director Eli David?"

If Ziva hadn't been as good as she was, her surprise would have shown in as startled look. As it was, she barely reacted, just smiled tightly and gave a small nod. "My father, yes."

Gibbs shared a side-glance with Vance, filing away the info that Sheppard was familiar with foreign intelligence heads.

"Huh." Was all Sheppard said. Gibbs noticed there was only mild confusion on Teyla and Ronon's faces. McKay just looked indifferent, now that the apparent mystery was solved for him.

Vance cleared his throat and opted to get to the heart of the matter. "Col. Sheppard, please accept my most sincere condolences on behalf of the agency and SecNav. Mr. Davenport asked me to convey his apologies for not attending the funeral this morning."

John looked at him, face blank, obviously not taking the words for more than face value, however, as he merely nodded and said, "Thank you, sir," quite coolly. Vance responded in kind.

"I was told you wished to speak to us about the unfortunate circumstances surrounding Ms. Sheppard's death. I'm not sure what we can tell you, however, that I suspect you already know." Vance raised an eyebrow questioningly, taking a seat at the head of the table. Gibbs sat down on his right, across the table from Sheppard (who was on Vance's left).

"I know only what I was told when I was recalled from my assignment." Sheppard stated. "They said my cousin had recently been murdered in a shoot-out north of LA, and that it wasn't on a mission. I want to know why Jenny was there, how she ended up in a gun fight, and everything your investigation has revealed. And then," Sheppard's voice grew quieter and dropped from cool to frigid, "I want to know what happened to Jenny's home."

Vance nodded, as if this was totally acceptable and there was no hard edged threat in the officer's tone. "I certainly understand your desire for answers, Col. Sheppard. And I'll be quite happy to allow Gibbs and his team to answer as many questions as possible. However, I must warn you that there are answers we cannot give you due to the top secret status of a past mission Ms. Sheppard was involved in that is connected to her death. I'm sure you understand."

Hazel eyes hardened and stared right at Vance, the green-gold glinting like shards of glass in the bright lights of the conference room. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it abruptly when McKay dropped a hand on his forearm and squeezed.

"We would like to hear what you have to say." McKay said, his expression far from pleased but his tone still calm and neutral. To the tense man beside him, he murmured, "Let's just hear them out first, John." He only removed his hand again when Sheppard gave a sharp nod of assent.

"Perhaps if you could start from the beginning." Teyla's reasonable, calming voice settled over them all, some of the tension in everyone's form easing away. "Why was Jenny in LA to begin with?"

"She was attending the funeral of a former colleague." Gibbs answered. He glanced down the table at Tony and Ziva. "Agent DiNozzo and Officer David went with her as her escort and security detail."

Tony had to work really hard not to flinch as those hard green eyes flicked to him and then to Ziva. There was something about this guy that Tony had never encountered before – not even in the hardest of the war-weary soldiers he'd met – and for once it actually scared him a little. One thing was certain, though, and that was that Sheppard knew death on a level not even most soldiers did – and the guy was only a pilot! Tony was torn between really wanting to know what his assignment was and where, and _not_ wanting to know at all.

"We did our duty." Ziva spoke up quietly when Tony said nothing and Gibbs looked over at her. "Tony and I...we don't know what happened at the funeral, but Jenny was suddenly telling us that we were no longer required as her escort and to enjoy the remainder of the day for ourselves, however we wished. She took the rental car and left soon after."

"We went back to the hotel." Tony finally put in, not looking at anyone but rather staring at a fixed point on the table in front of Sheppard. "I got Ziva and I another rental, and convinced her to come out with me. You know, see the sights of LA and all... Ziva was reluctant. She didn't like that Dir. Sheppard was off somewhere unknown, alone, and felt we should remain at the hotel in case something came up. I...disagreed." And he wasn't sure he'd ever forgive himself for ignoring his – and Ziva's – instincts. "I talked her into it, even though...I, too, had concerns."

"They did what they were ordered." Gibbs interrupted, shooting both his team members a long look. "Fact is, they have reason to have been wary of getting involved in Jen's personal business. Particularly DiNozzo. She'd gotten him burned before. It wasn't their fault, what happened to her, and the truth is that no matter where they'd been, it wouldn't have helped Jenny with her situation. She separated herself to protect them."

"From what?" McKay demanded before Sheppard could. "What was she involved in?"

"It was a mission from nine years ago." Vance interjected, cutting off whatever Gibbs had been about to say. "You know NCIS is not only an investigative agency but also deals with intelligence/counter-intelligence, among other things. It was a mission such as this Ms. Sheppard was involved in, and as such, we cannot divulge anything about it as it remains classified, though we can say that the reason she ended up in that diner was because she was following leads left behind by Agent Decker – the man whose funeral she attended."

"Leads." Sheppard echoed.

"Yes." Gibbs confirmed, ignoring Vance's hard stare. "We've since discovered that Decker had collected some sensitive information and documents relating to that old mission, and hid them as what he referred to as his 'insurance policy.' The final lead to those documents was supposed to be in that diner. Decker had purchased the place, intending to renovate it after he retired and go into business."

"Agent Gibbs." Vance stopped him, his expression growing darker.

"What? Come on, Leon. It doesn't hurt to tell them that much. It doesn't compromise the classified status at all." Gibbs stared right back. Neither man appeared to be about to back down.

"And these documents or whatever," Sheppard asked slowly, eyes flicking back and forth between them, "were they recovered?"

"Yes. They're safe." Gibbs answered, turning back to Sheppard. He thought of Mike Franks, by now safely back home in Mexico with the file containing the documents Jenny had died for. He decided to call Mike when he got home and tell him to burn the damn things and destroy them.

"I don't suppose you can tell us what was in them, either." McKay made a face, glowering at the room in general. "Well, fine then." He didn't wait for anyone to confirm his statement. "What about the house? There were some glaring inconsistencies that demand explanation."

"It was to cover up Dir. Sheppard's death." Vance interjected smoothly. "We could not let it be known that she was in a shoot-out and had essentially gone rogue."

McKay's eyes narrowed, the blue vivid and shrewd. He wasn't buying it. "And the body?"

"There was none. We just fed the press a story of one." Vance looked at Sheppard. "I assure you that she was truly the one you buried today, Colonel."

A sharp nod was his acknowledgement, but the man still remained dark and grim.

"Were there any other questions?" Vance asked of them. Teyla and Ronon both looked at McKay – who appeared to be bursting at the seams with questions but was refraining – and McKay looked at Sheppard. The Colonel shrugged.

"Plenty of them, sir. But at this point, I doubt you'd answer them. There was one, though..."

"Yes?"

"Her estate. Even though there's obviously very little to deal with now, I'd like to know if there's someone handling the rest of it or will I need to hire a lawyer?"

"I'm dealing with it, Colonel." Gibbs assured him, his business-like tone softening just a little. "When she became Director, she gave me copies of all her estate documents, and her will names myself and Dr. Mallard as her Executors. If you wish, we can make an appointment for you to look it all over for yourself."

Sheppard shook his head, suddenly looking weary but oddly relieved. "No, Agent Gibbs. If she trusted you with the job, that's enough for me. I only wanted to know if anyone had taken care of that or not."

"If you're certain." Gibbs shrugged. "Leave me with your contact information when you leave, in case she left anything for you. I admit I haven't had time to look at it all yet, myself."

Sheppard nodded, then frowned to himself. He glanced at McKay. "Rodney?"

"Uh...I'm sure General O'Neill or Daniel would make sure you got it." McKay replied, frowning back. "It'd be on the next supply run, I imagine. Want me to text him – them – and ask?" He dug out a Blackberry and waggled it.

"Yeah." Sheppard agreed.

"Now that that's settled," Vance leaned forward, lacing his fingers together in front of himself on the tabletop. "Perhaps you would answer a couple of questions for _us_, Colonel."

The Air Force officer's gaze sharpened and went decidedly neutral. "About what, Director Vance?"

"SecNav is getting rather impatient with the nosiness of the USAF concerning this matter." Vance drawled, noting the rapid rise of tension and the way not only Sheppard focused on him but also the other three. "A lot of questions are being asked, and the concept of classified doesn't appear to register with your people, Colonel. Why are they so interested in something that has nothing to do with them?"

Sheppard smiled, leaning back in his seat with deceptive casualness – and it wasn't an entirely friendly sort of smile. It had a distinctly predatory edge to it, and his three companions tensed visibly. "If they are, it's way above me, sir. Rest assured, they must have a good reason for it, if they are making a nuisance of themselves. And if I was a betting man, I'd guess their reasons are just as 'classified' as your own."

Gibbs fought not to smile. He liked this guy. He played at the politics much the way Gibbs himself did. It was a bonus that it was pissing off Vance, too.

At that moment, a young woman opened the door and poked her head into the room. "Excuse me, Director...SecNav is on the line for you, sir."

"On my way. Thank you, Cynthia." Vance got up and frowned at them all. "We're not done yet, so stay here." He ordered before striding out, not waiting to receive agreement.

Sheppard scowled and pinned Gibbs with a pleased frown. "He does know he can't give us orders, right?"

"Probably. However, he's used to being obeyed." Gibbs smirked. "Don't worry. He'll soon be disabused of that."

McKay snorted. "Whatever. We should go, John. We're obviously not going to get answers here. We'll just have to go over their heads."

"If you could do so, you would have done it already." Tony pointed out, playing with a pen.

McKay glared at him. "Actually, we haven't yet because we were trying to be _nice_ about it. John is Jenny's next of kin and they were quite close. No doubt if their positions were reversed _she_ would be the one demanding answers of _us_."

"Rodney." Sheppard spoke his name quietly, but firmly, and the scientist turned toward him, ready to launch into a debate. "No, McKay. It's fine." He met Gibbs gaze solidly. "You knew Jenny well?"

"Yes." Gibbs answered, curious to know where this was going. He elaborated. "When we were both still active intelligence agents, we worked together often over the years. She was my partner. She had guts, and was very intelligent – and ambitious. I respected her. More, I liked her."

Sheppard nodded. "Then I'll do you the courtesy of warning you that we're not going to go away until we get the answers we need. Whether or not she knew it, she was involved in something much, much bigger than a little espionage. Honestly, I doubt either Jenny or this Agent Decker guy really had a clue."

Gibbs frowned thoughtfully, mulling that over. He nodded once.

"Tony, Ziva, McGee."

"Yeah, boss?"

"Gibbs."

"Yes, boss?"

"I think we should all have a private wake for Jenny tonight. Potluck. My place. Go tell Ducky and Abby." Gibbs' gaze never left Sheppard's, not even when his team got up from their seats and filed out of the conference room quickly. When they were gone, Gibbs reached into his wallet and pulled a business card out. He flipped it over, wrote down his home address, and slid it across to Sheppard. "You and your friends are welcome to join us, Colonel. I think we have a lot to talk about."

"John." Sheppard palmed the card and tucked it into his jacket pocket. "Please."

Gibbs nodded. "Let me deal with Vance and SecNav, John. I suspect there's more politics than anything else going on with them, and that bullshit tends to get in the way of getting anything important done."

This time his smile was genuine and amused. "Gibbs, you have no idea."

"I'm beginning to see that."

"Can we go now?" Ronon wondered, eyeing Gibbs with interest. Anyone who got on John's good side was worth keeping an eye on in his books.

"Yeah." Gibbs pushed himself up out of his chair and shook Sheppard's hand. "Vance would attempt to keep you here and badger you mercilessly for answers, but we know it wouldn't go anywhere and we have no valid reason to detain you."

"Nope. You couldn't keep us anyway." John grinned and something about it made Gibbs certain he wasn't even joking. "Thanks, Gibbs. Oh, what time tonight?"

"Hmm...around 1800?"

"Sounds good. See you then." John ushered his team toward the door. "Let's go, people. We'll see ourselves out."

Gibbs followed, stopping at the railing and watching them from above as they disappeared into the elevator. Once gone, he made his way to Vance's office to deal with the fallout of letting the Colonel go against orders. Thankfully, Cynthia was more than happy to let him through, her expression somewhat pinched as she waved him by. Gibbs wondered just what Vance had done or said to aggravate the assistant so obviously. That was usually _his_ fault.

The new Director had just hung up his phone as Gibbs walked in. "Gibbs! What are you..." Vance stopped himself, narrowed his gaze, and growled, "You let them go, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did. In case you hadn't noticed, Leon, we were getting exactly nowhere with them. Attempting to hold them was absolutely pointless and you know it. Playing hardball wasn't going to work, so I'm doing it the other way."

"And what way would that be?"

"Sympathy and a conversation held in confidence in a completely informal setting. I'll find out what he's after, _Director_." Gibbs assured, stressing Vance's title but also coloured with his own displeasure with Vance's tactics. "I'll let you know."

With that, he turned on his heel and marched out before Vance could say anything.

He stopped at Cynthia's desk on the way by. "Hey, Cynthia."

"Agent Gibbs." She returned the greeting with a small, sad, and tired smile. He guessed she'd been running herself ragged trying to keep on top of the change-over. "Can I help you?"

"You doing alright?" He asked quietly. Now that he thought of it, had she even been given a chance to say goodbye to Jenny? He knew they'd gotten quite close in the short time Jenny had been Director.

"Yes, sir. Just...have to get through the day."

Gibbs nodded. Yeah, he got that. "If you need anything..."

"Thank you, sir. I'll be fine." Cynthia smiled a bit more then sighed. "Sir. I suppose I ought to give you this." She pushed away from her desk, bent, and lifted a file box from the floor. Letting it rest on the edge of her desk, she looked up at Gibbs. "I cleared out Jenny's personal belongings before...before Vance came. I didn't think she would want anyone else touching her things."

Swallowing hard, Gibbs took the box. "Thank you, Cynthia. I appreciate that you had the foresight to do it. I'll take care of this."

Cynthia just nodded, looking very much like she wanted to cry. She watched Gibbs leave, box in hand, before returning to her work.

* * *

"Well _that_ was a perfectly useless waste of time." McKay huffed, settling into his seat next to John as the Colonel pulled out of the NCIS parking lot. "We got nothing new or useful out of that."

"Yes we did." John contradicted him. He rolled his shoulder, feeling the tension bleed away now that he wasn't trying to keep up his facade of the emotionless soldier.

"What? What did we learn?" Rodney stared at him, thinking over the whole confrontation rapidly. "Oh! They confirmed there are documents!"

"Exactly. Hopefully tonight we can get more out of Gibbs." John wasn't going to hold his breath, though. One look at the man and John saw 'Marine' practically stamped on his forehead. Not only that, but he was a thoroughly trained federal agent and investigator. Just call Gibbs Fort Knox because the guy could probably keep secrets as well as the famous treasury building could keep gold secure.

"I don't trust that Vance guy." Ronon rumbled from behind Sheppard.

"Me neither." All three of the others responded simultaneously. It made John grin a little. Sometimes they were all so in sync it was scary.

"We were being evaluated." Teyla added her own impressions of the meeting, a frown marring her otherwise serene features. "The younger agents...they were paying more attention to Rodney, myself, and Ronon than you, John, or to the conversation."

John shrugged and nodded. "It's not like we weren't doing the same."

Teyla inclined her head. "That is true."

John kept driving, navigating the D.C. streets to get back to O'Neill's. "It was fairly obvious they've looked us up. And I think we're safe in assuming they know far more than they're telling, as well as that they know _we_ know more than _we're_ telling."

"So this impromptu wake is a set up." Rodney stated flatly. "Great."

"To an extent, yes. But since we know that, we can use it to our own ends, Rodney." John pointed out.

When they arrived back at the General's home, Rodney went upstairs to get his laptop from their room while Teyla and Ronon accompanied John to inform O'Neill of the results of their trip to NCIS.

John had just finished telling him about the wake when Rodney bustled back in with his laptop.

"I was thinking that since they looked us up, it's only fair that we look _them_ up in return." Rodney booted the computer and glanced back and forth between John and Jack. "Unless you've already done that."

Jack shook his head. "Didn't really think it was necessary until now."

"Do it, Rodney. I want to know all about the NCIS team before we go there tonight." John stated decisively. He didn't like flying blind into situations.

"Give me half an hour, General, to get it all."

"Would you mind terribly if I invited myself and Daniel along, Sheppard, or would we cramp your style?" Jack asked, raising an eyebrow at the younger officer. John frowned at him.

"Now how would I refuse you, sir, if I was going to? I can't say no to a General, particularly when he's my CO."

Jack laughed. "Yeah, I've been there a few times myself. But seriously, John. I'd like to meet this Gibbs guy myself. And both Daniel and I are good at getting information out of people before they realize they've said anything. Not that I don't believe any of you aren't capable, mind you, just that..."

"You're bored, aren't you Jack?" Daniel rolled his eyes from his seat on the sofa, his own laptop open and resting in his lap. "You're tired of sitting at a desk, you've lost patience with the official 'un-official' inquiries, and you want action."

Jack huffed, slouching in his desk chair. "Thank you, Dr. Jackson, for maligning my character as a high-powered General."

"Whatever. You even used me as an accomplice – without asking me, by the way." Daniel promptly ignored him and the near pout.

John blinked, a bit startled at the linguist's complete disregard for the General's status, even borderline disrespect. He'd known, in that abstract sort of way, that they were the two who started it all, that they'd been through things together as teammates that even John couldn't imagine (with his own experiences in Pegasus, now), but still...

"Uh...I don't mind if you come along, sir." John agreed, doing his best to pretend he was oblivious. Then he had a small epiphany and realized it was much the same between himself and Rodney. Shaking his head, he wondered if it was a military-scientist thing.

"What about us?" Ronon asked, gesturing at Teyla and himself.

"We shall go to support John, of course." Teyla stated, folding her arms and giving him her most stubborn look.

"Yes, but what will we do? We don't know anything about much of anything, and this is some sort of...social gathering?" The big guy looked faintly confused and very uncomfortable. "You _know_ I'm not good at this stuff. Besides, it's not like there's gonna be something for me to shoot at." He'd lived with joining John on Earth for his father's funeral, but there had been food. Lots of food. He'd also been curious about John's planet. And then there was action when the Replicator made its appearance. Not that he was hoping for any such reoccurrence, of course...

John opened his mouth to tell him he could stay here when Rodney tossed out, "No, but there will be food. And beverages." John snapped his mouth shut again when Ronon brightened and nodded eagerly.

"Right. I'll go."

Jack grinned. "Great! So...I guess we'd better find our own contributions to the food part of this shindig, huh?" He rubbed his hands together. "How many are we feeding?"

"Twelve." Rodney answered absently, keys clicking rapidly as he worked.

"Daniel! Let's go grocery shopping." Jack stood up.

"We could just order a whole lot of Chinese food." Daniel suggested, reluctantly putting aside his laptop.

"One, that's just sacrilege. It's a _wake_, Daniel." Jack huffed. "And two, come on! Put a little more effort into it, yeah?"

Daniel just sighed. "Anyone else want to come along?" Ronon shrugged and followed them out. He was curious about a store where 90% of what it sold was food.

"John? Do you require my assistance?" Teyla inquired, also rising from her seat.

"Not right now, no. If you want to go with them, Teyla, go ahead." John smiled and waved her away. "I'll stay with Rodney. You go keep Ronon from buying everything in sight."

She grinned, flashing him a grateful look, and hurried to catch up to the others.

"Guess it's just you and me, buddy." John drawled, sighing almost with relief as he flopped down on the sofa next to the busy scientist. He sprawled out and closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself to relax – well, at least as much as he was able to.

"You alright?" Rodney glanced him over, hiding the bulk of his concern. "It's been a long, rough day. No one would blame you if you wanted to take a nap before we go play in NCIS' sandbox tonight."

"I'm fine."

Rodney huffed and, being careful of the computer, slid off the couch to the floor. "Just lay down already."

Under any other circumstances, John would have told him where to shove it. However, he obeyed in this instance – and rather gracefully, Rodney thought, which was an indicator of how drained the man was mentally and physically. After a few moments of getting comfortable, John gave his friend a pat on the shoulder.

"Thanks, Rodney." He murmured. Then, "While you're hacking any number of Federal databases..."

"What? Want me to find out who really killed JFK?"

"No. Though it'd be interesting. But no."

Rodney pulled up another window, prepared to search. "What then?"

"Get me the autopsy file on Jenny."

Rodney yanked his fingers from the keyboard as if burned. "_John_...really, that's just torturing yourself!" He craned himself around to stare at the man in shock. "Why? We already know..."

"Please." John almost whispered it, staring right back without blinking. Rodney swallowed, hard, and nodded jerkily, quickly typing in the necessary parameters for the search.

"Okay. So, um...why?"

"I want to know...exactly what happened. The M.E.'s report is kind of like a baseball game, in that when you just have the numbers you can recreate the whole game without having to actually _see_ it." John replied, explaining as best he could. His voice hardened. "Besides that, I don't trust that Vance guy. I want to know just how much of this he's covering up."

"Right." Rodney watched the progress on his screen, face grim. "Though, if he's covering anything up in the report, we won't really know unless the cause of death isn't listed as...gunshot wound to...wherever." He flinched a bit at having to say that to John.

"Maybe. Maybe not. We could ask Dr. Lam's opinion on the findings." If John's voice trembled a bit, Rodney pretended not to notice.

"Yeah."

There was silence for a while, only John's gentle, slow breathing from behind Rodney and the scientist's clicking keyboard breaking it up. Eventually, as he started collecting the data he was looking for, Rodney had to get up and hook up to O'Neill's little-used printer to make hard copies of everything. John stayed where he was, allowing the repetitive sounds of the printer and shuffling of papers to lull him into a doze.

He woke up with Rodney prodding his shoulder carefully, saying, "They're back, John. Sorry." apologetically because he hated to interrupt his rest. Rubbing his eyes free of grit tiredly, he sat up and ran his fingers through his hair.

"How long?" He asked, glancing at his watch.

"Not long. A couple of hours." Rodney murmured back. He placed a hand on his friend's shoulder and squeezed. "You needed it."

"Hey, guys! We're back!" Daniel walked in, Teyla and Ronon behind him. "Jack's just putting away the stuff that needs to be in the fridge."

"What'd ya get?" Rodney asked, curiously.

"A couple of veggie trays and a meat and cheese tray, couple loaves of French bread..." Daniel listed off.

"And a big piece of an animal you call a 'pig.'" Ronon finished, a definite gleam in his eye.

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Geeze. Okay, well, I hope you put that in the oven right away because it'll take time to cook."

"Plenty of time, McKay." Jack walked in, clapping his hands once and rubbing them together. "So! What's up, kids? Were you productive while we were out?"

Rodney handed him two file folders he'd poached from O'Neill's desk, thick with paper. "Knowing your dislike of modern, twenty-first century technology, General, I made myself at home in your desk and put together hard copies for you." Jack blinked, looking mildly disconcerted about having someone other than himself (or Daniel) in his personal desk, but nodded and said only, "Thanks, McKay. Though I assure you I'm quite capable of using a computer." The last he said with a scowl.

"Yes, yes. And by the way, you're the only person I know over the age of, say, eight who as a yo-yo, a slinky, and one of those little bouncy-ball toys you can get in a dollar store." Rodney smirked at Daniel's burst of laughter, and Jack's totally unrepentant shrug.

"They're classics, McKay. Fun is fun. If you had my job, you'd take fun where you could find it, too."

"No doubt." Rodney agreed easily. He wouldn't want the General's job for all the tea in China.

"So what did you find, McKay?" Ronon asked, settling down in an armchair that was almost too small for him.

"I'll start with the Medical Examiner, Dr. Donald Mallard. He's well educated, with both a medical degree and a forensic pathology degree. He recently added a Masters in forensic psychology to that. He was born in Scotland, emigrated with his mother after Vietnam to the States. He's worked for NCIS for many years now, as their Chief Medical Examiner and Forensics Expert here in D.C." Rodney summarized his findings. "From what I can see, he's meticulous, careful, and has high moral and ethical standards. If he participated in a cover-up at all, he'd have done it with extreme reluctance, and probably only after Vance or Gibbs gave him a good enough reason for it."

"Huh. Eton. And a stint in the British military as a doctor, I see." Jack added, skimming through papers as Rodney spoke.

"Eton?" Teyla asked.

"It's a prestigious college in Great Britain. That's where generations of their nobility and royalty have gone for further education." Daniel explained, leaning over Jack's shoulder to read, too.

"Carson...was from Scotland, too." Rodney added softly. Teyla smiled sadly, nodding her understanding.

"Next?" John pushed along, not wanting to dwell too much on their missed friend and doctor.

"Abigail Sciuto. NCIS forensic and evidence specialist. Basically, she's their lab tech." Rodney continued. His tone turned vaguely, grudgingly impressed. "And she's another highly educated person – though not as smart as me. She's still young, so..."

John bumped his shoulder with his own. "Aww...that's high praise coming from you, Rodney."

"Yes, well..." Rodney flushed, shooting his friend a glare. "She majored in three subjects from Louisiana State University, earned a Masters in both criminology and forensic science from Georgia State University, and is listed here as fluent in sign language. Both her parents are legally deaf."

"What about the young guy on the team? McGee? He's the one who was with Abby and Dr. Mallard at the funeral when the y came over to offer condolences." Daniel wondered.

"Actually, it seems like NCIS has been competing with us for recruitment of highly educated people." Rodney commented dryly. "Timothy McGee is their Junior Agent, mostly as their computer and tech specialist. He's got a biomedical engineering degree from Johns Hopkins University, and his Masters in computer forensics from MIT."

Jack barked out a laugh. "Geez, and if his life isn't exciting enough, he's a well-known crime novelist. Damn, I've read his books!"

"Thom E. Gemcity." Rodney rolled his eyes, nodding. "How...original."

"He's good, McKay Very entertaining. Don't knock him 'till you've tried it."

"Next!" Rodney ignored O'Neill's huffy glare. "Anthony DiNozzo, Senior Agent. What he lacks in the other's education he makes up for in field experience as an investigator. He's a graduate of Ohio State University, and he's been a cop with several different forces in the several major cities all over the country, serving mostly with the homicide departments. He's also fluent in Spanish.

"Then we have Ziva David, Mossad Liaison Officer – a position created for her by Jenny Sheppard." Rodney snuck a glance at John. The slight smile made Rodney wonder if she'd done something similar for him. "You can all appreciate the effort and difficulty I went through to get this information, by the way, since I got not only the NCIS files but the Mossad ones, too."

"You _hacked_ Mossad? McKay!" Jack growled.

"What? It's not like they'll ever know I was there, and should some miracle occur and they do find a breach, I guarantee they'd never trace it to me."

"It's done, Jack. Can't do anything about it now anyway." Daniel soothed. "Keep going, Rodney."

Warily, Rodney flipped the page and continued. "Ms. David truly is Mossad Director Eli David's own daughter, as she said. She did a stint in the Israeli army before joining Mossad. As you can imagine, her life's been pretty violent and intense. She's...a scary, scary woman. A female Ronon." Rodney quipped, grinning at the big guy, who blinked at him curiously.

"She looked pretty tiny, to me." Ronon said disbelievingly, but shrugged, since really, most women were much smaller in size than himself but even more ferocious.

"Why such a violent life, Rodney?" Teyla asked.

"Israel is in a part of our world that's been fought over by various peoples for all kinds of reasons...pretty much forever." John explained softly. "Pride, greed, revenge, power, resources...but the usual excuses are made on religious grounds."

Ronon raised an eyebrow, and Teyla's eyes widened. "What is so special about this country that so many would fight and die over it?"

"Religion does strange things to people on occasion." Jack rocked back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling in contemplation. "I've seen enough of it in my lifetime – not just here, on Earth, but across the galaxy. Hell, the Ori wand their followers are a perfect example."

Daniel sighed. "It's a long and complicated history, Teyla, the gist of which is that several of our major world religions believe that the area composing Israel is Holy for whatever reason, and because of this each believes they should e the ones in control of it because it is obviously theirs by sacred right – as their religion is the only 'true' and 'correct' one, not any other. These days, however, it's not really the general populations who advocate this but the fanatics and militant governments who continue to use it as an excuse to gain power and dominion over not just that little piece of land but over _all_ the members of their religion, too, everywhere in the world."

John looked over at the beautiful alien woman who'd become one of his closest friends. "Those of us on Atlantis, Teyla, are the best of our world in most cases..."

"Except certain people who shall remain nameless or known as Kavanagh." Rodney muttered darkly.

"...But here, back on Earth, we're not nearly as united or civilized. It's unfortunate, but true." John continued.

Teyla shook her head, and Ronon shrugged. "No one's perfect, Sheppard." The Satedan stated. "It isn't like everyone in Pegasus is united, either. Everyone's got their own problems."

"Yeah."

"So why was the position created for her, Rodney? Or didn't it say?" Daniel inquired, drawing them all back onto track.

"No. At least, not the whole story, I'm sure. The notes in the file only gives '_to further cooperative efforts in the Middle East between the United States of America and Israel against current and future terrorist activities_' as an excuse." Rodney quoted for them. "Other than this, there wasn't much else to know...oh! She does speak several languages fluently, which isn't much of a surprise, really."

"Last but not least..." Jack flipped open the other file folder, pulling out Agent Gibb's information.

"Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Special Agent-in-Charge and Major Case Response Team Supervisor. He was a Marine scout sniper as a Gunnery Sergeant, retired honourably when his time was up with the Corps shortly after the..." Rodney paused, swallowing hard, "...untimely deaths of his wife and daughter."

"Jesus." Jack flinched and handed the papers to Daniel. "Murdered. While he was deployed overseas." Daniel paled and dropped a hand on the older man's shoulder, squeezing in support, knowing Jack was thinking of Charlie.

"That's horrible!" Teyla's eyes went very wide. "Did they find the one who did this?"

"I don't think so. There was an investigation, but the case went cold." Rodney cleared his throat. "Um, needless to say, he retired and went to work for NIS – now NCIS – and spent some time as an active intelligence agent before taking on the investigator side of it. He's been remarried three times, and subsequently divorced three times."

"His investigation record is pretty darned perfect." Daniel added, handing it all back to Jack. "The whole team's is. I think we're going to have to be extra careful of what we say around them, if we want to keep them from getting too curious about the programme and us."

"Ya think?" Jack drawled sarcastically.

* * *

Gibbs looked around his kitchen, shaking his head at himself and wondering why on Earth he'd volunteered _his_ place for a social event like a wake – even if it was just an excuse. The kitchen counter and the small table were piled with trays and dishes of food, as well as the stacks of plates, napkins, utensils, and plastic glasses. Frowning, he dug out a large green garbage bag and got it ready for garbage disposal later, for clean-up.

He could hear his people's conversation from the living room where they'd all gathered. Tony, Ziva, McGee, Abby, and Ducky had arrived almost all at the same time, and had filed into his small house with an easy familiarity that spoke of their comfort level with each other and Gibbs' welcome.

Glancing at his watch, Gibbs noted the time. Their guests would be here any minute now, give or take, depending on how hard they found navigating the city. Gibbs cracked open a couple more beer bottles and took the four bottles out to his team. He handed one each to Tony, McGee, and Ziva – keeping the fourth for himself. Ducky had a tumbler of scotch, and Abby wasn't drinking alcohol, but did have a glass of cola.

"Thanks, boss." Tony said, taking a swig. "So what's the plan here?"

"We weren't going to get anywhere at the office with them." Gibbs dropped down on the sofa next to Abby. "Especially not with Vance being so antagonistic, DiNozzo. Even if the Air Force _is_ nosing around in Naval affairs, no crime has been committed and our new Director seems to have forgotten that. I'm just curious to know what they're looking _for_."

"So are Leon Vance and SecNav, I presume." Ducky surmised, swirling the amber liquid in his tumbler around absently.

"Yeah, Duck."

"Why _are_ they so hot to know?" Abby asked.

"That I don't know, Abs." Gibbs shrugged, taking a gulp of his beer. "I'm hoping to find out an answer that will satisfy everyone tonight from Sheppard. You all leave him to me. Otherwise, this is a farewell to Jen."

"Ten four, boss." Tony agreed, saluting with his beer bottle. The others all nodded.

"Gibbs, they are here." Ziva informed him from her seat at the window. "And there are two others with them."

He raised an eyebrow and went to open the door.


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer:_ The author does not own any of NCIS or Stargate, only borrows them for the sake of this fanfiction. No profit is made by the writing of this story.

_Warnings:_ Anything one expects to see on Stargate or NCIS, expect it here; also, slash in the form of Jack/Daniel, and John/Rodney; het pairings include Tony/Ziva, Gibbs/Jenny.

_If you dislike such things, or are underage, do not read!_

* * *

_Thank you, Emergency70 for the beta!_

**Chapter VI**

The door opened before John even made it to the front steps of the house.

"Colonel Sheppard." Gibbs greeted him, a bottle of beer in one hand. "Come on in."

"Agent Gibbs." John returned, pausing at the door to introduce the party-crashing General and linguist. "I hope you don't mind, but a couple of friends invited themselves along. Dr. Daniel Jackson and General Jack O'Neill, USAF. This is Special Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs' eyes flicked back and forth between them, widening minutely but otherwise remaining calm and welcoming. "Not at all, Colonel. The more the merrier." He offered a hand to Jackson, then O'Neill. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"I'll just have coffee, if you've got it, Agent Gibbs. Black." Daniel requested. Jack, on the other hand, pointed at the bottle in Gibbs' hand with interest.

"Got any more of those?"

"Yep. McGee!" Gibbs yelled over his shoulder.

"Boss?" The young agent hurried over at the summons.

"Beer." Gibbs raised a questioning eyebrow at Sheppard, who nodded and jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

"McKay will probably have one, too."

"Three, Tim. And a mug of black coffee for Dr. Jackson."

"Coming right up!" McGee flashed a smile and disappeared into the kitchen.

Teyla came up the steps, followed by McKay and Ronon, the two men laden down with bags and trays of food. Gibbs led them all into his house, directing the food to the kitchen. Abby appeared at Gibbs' side and accompanied them to help get it all organized, while McGee returned with the beer and a steaming mug of coffee. After another round of introductions, everyone settled in to quiet conversations – small talk, really. Then came the feast.

After everyone had eaten and the kitchen was mostly cleaned up, Gibbs invited John down to the basement for their conversation. John nodded and tapped McKay on the shoulder as he passed by.

"Keep an eye on things, Rodney." He murmured in the scientist's ear.

"Go. We're fine." Rodney muttered back.

John followed Gibbs to the basement stairs, unsurprised when O'Neill silently joined him. When Gibbs raised an eyebrow in question, John just shrugged unapologetically.

"Whatever you have to say, Agent Gibbs, you can say to the General. He's a friend." John stuffed his hands into his pants' pockets and leaned on the work table. "And my CO."

Jack flashed his best grin, full of O'Neill charm, and took in the work-in-progress that was the boat Gibbs was currently building. "Nice boat. If only my pond were bigger..."

The agent blinked. "Thanks." He said, looking back and forth between the two Air Force officers bemusedly. He stifled the urge to mutter, "Fly boys," under his breath in exasperation. They were flighty and enigmatic at the best of times, and Marines often didn't get them – which was fine because the fly boys didn't get the Marines so well either.

"So what was it you wanted to talk about, Agent Gibbs?" John asked, leaning against a workbench and ignoring Jack as the older man circled the boat skeleton, curiously inspecting it and making interested and approving noises every now and then.

"Just 'Gibbs' is fine, especially when this whole conversation is strictly off-the-record and between us." Gibbs let his gaze flick to O'Neill and back. "All three of us..." he added wryly.

"Sure, Gibbs." John agreed easily.

"Well, to start with, I'd like to explain our curiosity about you and your people." Gibbs perched himself on his stool, getting comfortable. "I knew Jenny for years. Worked with her for years, too, and considered a close friend. I thought I knew her really well, but I had no idea she had any relations other than her father, Jasper Sheppard. Your appearance was really startling and..."

"Suspicious?" Jack threw in, bending down to look under the boat at...whatever it was with creaky knees and a wince. "Don't blame ya. I'd be suspicious too if someone popped up claiming to be Daniel's relative."

"She probably wouldn't have talked about me or anyone else in the family." John shrugged, then decided to explain. "Jasper was my father's brother. Younger brother. Dad – Patrick – was the one who took over the family business, but Uncle Jasper wasn't the white collar type. Instead, he went and enlisted in the army as soon as he could. Grandpa was...not furious, but he wasn't okay with it, either, my mom once told me. Gramps died five years later, and Dad took it badly. He blamed his brother. It caused a rift that never healed." John sighed. He understood his uncle all too well. "For all intents and purposes, Uncle Jasper was cut from the family tree. Jenny's mother was pregnant with Jenny at the time, and I was only about a year old.

"Despite the rift, I still managed to meet Jenny when we were older and we grew quite close. We had stuff in common, I guess. More than my older brother, David, ever did. When we hit our adulthood, I had decided I wanted nothing more than the sky. I went for the Air Force, and Jenny encouraged me. David was Dad's son, through to the bone. He did everything Dad expected of him. I didn't. And when I left home for the Academy, Dad was livid. He saw it as being influenced by Uncle Jasper and it just made things worse between them."

Gibbs listened attentively, shaking his head. He could sort of understand, as his own relationship with his father had similar issues. Gibbs had not only run off at eighteen and joined the Marines, against his father's wishes, but he'd become a sniper – something his father – a pilot – never understood.

"It _was_ partly Uncle Jasper's influence." John admitted. "I got into the Academy on his approval and reference because Jenny asked him to help me. That and my grades, of course." John flashed a small smirk (O'Neill rolled his eyes as he passed by on his inspection tour). "Anyway, Jenny and I stayed in touch over the years, even if we hardly ever ran into each other or anything." He paused, debating whether or not to get into the whole Afghanistan thing. Why not? He thought. "Then a few years ago, I was assigned to Afghanistan. Long story short: things went very, very wrong. I made a decision, and I got a black mark for it. I would have been given much more than that – like a dishonourable discharge, but...Jenny used her connections and influence to get me the milk run at McMurdo instead."

"Antarctica?" Gibbs wondered, looking rather incredulous. "That can't possibly be better than a DD."

John chuckled, flushing when Jack snorted and said, "The kid _liked_ it there, Gibbs, god knows why."

"What's not to like? I got to fly pretty often, and I didn't have to shoot at people or have people shoot at _me_. I found it very peaceful and beautiful." John grumbled, eyeing his CO. "Besides, sir, if I _hadn't_ been assigned there, I wouldn't be where I am today."

Jack shrugged. "True."

"And you might be dead."

Jack frowned at him, not that he would argue the point. John's skill as a pilot had been tested that fateful day by the drone missile Carson Beckett had set loose by accident.

"Alright. So there is a real connection between you and Jenny." Gibbs nodded, waving it aside. "You do realize it's only that much more suspicious because of how the Air Force is poking their nose into things that don't concern them."

"On _my_ authority, Gibbs." Jack interjected before John could respond. "It's my people, my department, that's doing the digging."

The two men stared at one another for a long moment, neither one willing to back down, neither one phased by the contest of wills in the least. John – with more wisdom than many a past CO credited him for – stayed out of it, remaining silent on the sidelines. If Gibbs wanted to attempt to take on the Lt. General in a pissing contest, John wasn't going to get involved. It was free entertainment, and he could use some.

"Well are you going to tell me _why_? Or at least _what_ you're looking for? And what 'department' are you talking about, exactly?" It was Gibbs who finally broke the impasse, demanding answers. "You can't tell me, seriously, that that Air Force is digging because _Colonel Sheppard_ wants to know."

John tried not to feel too insulted.

"It's not the USAF, necessarily, that wants to know what happened to Dir. Sheppard. It's just that the majority of my people at the Pentagon happen to be USAF personnel." Jack leaned against a workhorse, near to John, and folded his arms over his chest. "I'm in command of a very top-secret department which employs a considerable number of military and civilian personnel alike. The military contingent is made up of people from primarily the Air Force and Marine Corps, though we've expanded to include many Army folks, too. No Navy yet, however." He glanced at John. "Not that I recall off-hand."

"None that I know of, sir." John agreed, not that he hadn't ever requested a SEAL team for Atlantis before, or would really know what the numbers were on Earth after living in Pegasus for four years.

"We became concerned about the whole thing when we learned there were documents involved in Ms. Sheppard's death that we believe may be related to the programme – the one my department runs, Gibbs." Jack continued, without giving much away. "These documents could contain some potentially dangerous data, not only to National Security but...also on a personal level to however is in possession of those documents."

Gibbs frowned at both officers. "I'm hearing a lot 'maybes' and 'possibly-s' and I'm still not hearing information. The only documents that we learned of were contained in an old NIS file belonging to Agent Decker. One of his old case files. I don't see how it could possibly be at all relevant to whatever it is you're so secretive about." He stared hard at Jack. "Look, I can't help you unless I know what you want, and I mean _details_. If it's such a huge deal, I'll sign whatever dotted lines you want swearing to never tell another soul about it. I'm used to keeping state secrets."

Jack sighed and shook his head. "It's not that simple. Even if I read you in – even just the bare basics – the potential problems that would eventually come sneaking up on you are not just annoyances, they're real, life-threatening dangers. And to be perfectly frank, we – the programme – have no use for you beyond the immediate situation and the whereabouts of those documents."

Before Gibbs could growl back, affronted at being so blatantly termed 'useless,' John spoke up.

"Listen, Gibbs, I understand where you're coming from. General O'Neill does, too. All we're interested in are those documents. If we seem them, and determine whether or not they're relevant to us, then the problem's easily solved. If they are, we take them and no one has to worry about their potential to cause more harm. If they're not, then we go away and you likely never hear from us ever again."

Gibbs remained silent for a long, tense moment, thinking that over. Finally, still frowning, he said, "I'd like to take you up on that, Sheppard, but I have no say over those documents. That would be up to Vance – or even SecNav. Then, too, I haven't seen them, myself, and I can honestly say I don't know where they are."

"Who does?" John asked. "Director Vance? Or were they turned over to another agency?"

"Dear god I hope not!" Jack exclaimed, looking very pained. "I don't want to have to try and pry them from the hands of the CIA or FBI or who_ever_."

Gibbs looked just as pained, but for an entirely different reason. It looked like he'd have to tell them what happened at that diner after all, including the part Mike Franks had played. Vance wouldn't be happy when he found out.

"I need you both to just listen for a bit, alright? No interruptions. This is what went down at the diner and the events leading up to it as told to me by the only person to walk away from the gun fight alive." Gibbs waited until they'd both nodded – neither looking pleased about it – before telling them the whole story he'd heard from Mike Franks.

"On the mission nine years ago, William Decker was the agents' contact in Europe. He was the one who got them all whatever they needed to perform the mission and get away clean and free. Between him and the other two agents involved a codeword was created, to be used in the event one of them was compromised as a warning to the others. At Decker's funeral, Jen heard someone using that codeword – a made-up name, Oshimaida – trying to find any of the people involved in the mission. As they were the only three people who'd known the code, the guy had to have gotten it from Decker – which meant his death was not natural or accidental. Jen immediately took steps to separate herself from her escort of DiNozzo and David – for their protection – and went off on her own to deal with the problem.

"Now before you get mad, she didn't try to do it all on her own." Gibbs assured them at the expression on John's face. "She at least called in reliable back-up." He was still very pissed off she hadn't called _him_, though, since it was just as much his problem as hers, not to mention hating how she seemed to want to protect him when he didn't need it. Pushing aside his anger, however, he continued the story. "She called in my mentor, Mike Franks. He's retired, now, but still capable and completely reliable. Mike met her in LA, and they did some investigating. In the course of it, they came across Decker's widow, Sasha, who told them about her husband's diner in the desert and that Decker had told her to deliver a key to the diner to Jenny – the Director of NCIS – if anything should ever happen to him. She also told them Decker called it his 'insurance policy.'

"Jen gave Sasha her rental car and told her to get out of town. When looking for Jenny, DiNozzo and David found the rental at the Santa Monica pier – along with Sasha. Dead. That's how the gunmen found Jen and Mike at the diner.

"Mike said they showed up when he was out back behind the diner getting some water from the reservoir. He couldn't make it back in time to save Jenny, but he made sure all the scumbags were very dead before taking the clue to Decker's insurance policy and getting out of there. Not long after, DiNozzo and David traced the place down and found Jenny." Gibbs blew out a harsh breath. "I happened to call her cell phone just then, and they informed me of what they'd found. By the time I got out there myself, Vance was already on-scene and working it with my agents' assistance. What he didn't know was that Mike had called me just after I talked to DiNozzo from Washington. We'd arranged to meet, so he could tell me the whole story.

"I told him to go home after that. I would take care of the rest of the problem. He refused, even though it was a bad idea because Vance knew someone else other than the deceased had been in that diner and walked away. I left him in LA, hoping he'd just go home, but I later found out he'd gone to D.C. following that clue to Decker's insurance policy. By the time I got home and put my own pieces of the puzzle together, Mike had been to the NCIS archives and retrieved the file with the documents from the premises. What he did with them I don't know, and I didn't ask. It was better all around if no one else knew."

"I see." Jack said after a long moment of silence. "So...call him up and tell him you need them after all."

"It's not that simple, General." Gibbs huffed. "I'd need a damn good reason to tell him to get on a plane and come all the way back here after just getting home again."

Jack scowled. "National security isn't a good enough reason?"

"No, not really." Gibbs replied, blunt, sardonic, but truthful. Now that Mike was retired, he felt no obligation toward the government or the country any longer. Except for certain, extreme circumstances, he refused to become involved in any sort of goings-on that had anything to do with politics, the military, or NCIS.

"Well, give me his phone number and address and we'll go talk to him ourselves tomorrow." Jack tried, looking over at John. "Got a pen and paper, Sheppard?"

John shook his head and at the same moment Gibbs' phone rang. He frowned, picking it up and glancing at the caller ID. A feeling of dread settled in as he saw the unknown number.

"Now what?" He muttered, flipping the phone open and answering it. "Gibbs."

"Probie! I need you down here!" Mike Franks' voice was loud and harsh over the static-filled line. "Goddamn it! You said that woman was the only loose end!"

"She should have been." Gibbs replied, not liking the sound of that at all. "What's wrong, Mike? What happened?"

John got to his feet when he heard that, and Jack straightened up, both prepared to spring into action. Gibbs eyed them warily, but couldn't do anything about it.

"My goddamn house blew up! That's what!"

Gibbs paled. "What about..."

"We're lucky, Probie, that they were in town shopping at the market." Mike responded gruffly, speaking of his daughter-in-law, Leyla, and granddaughter - Gibbs' goddaughter, Amira. "I stashed them someplace safe, for now, but I'm in the middle of a huge mess, here. The Federales aren't very pleased with what happened or why I disappeared right after, and there were a few suspicious characters around town that got my gut aching."

"Get on a plane and bring them here." Gibbs demanded.

"No. Not until I know what's going on. So tell me, _Jethro_," Gibbs fought not to flinch at the heated snap of his given name, "What the _hell_ haven't you told me?"

"I've told you all that I know, Mike. Which is why you should come..." Gibbs was cut off as the dial tone suddenly buzzed in his ear. "Shit. Mike?" He hung up the phone and looked at his guests. "Cut off."

"That was the guy you were telling us about?" Jack inquired.

"Yes. He retired to Mexico, and lives with his daughter-in-law and granddaughter."

Jack nodded, almost as if to himself. He turned away and stared at the boat, thinking. After a tense moment, John hesitantly dared to ask, "Sir?"

"With me." O'Neill turned on his heel and quickly marched to the stairs. John hurried after him, and Gibbs followed because he wanted to know what these people knew and what was going on. Then too, Gibbs intended to set McGee loose to trace Mike's call if possible so Gibbs would have a better idea of where to go looking for him (and Leyla and Amira Shakarji).

As soon as O'Neill walked into the room, all conversation died and all eyes turned on him. He was in General-mode as he began issuing commands to his people.

"Daniel, call Davis and tell him we need to meet him on-board _Odyssey_ with six standard non-disclosure and confidentiality packages ASAP. McKay, contact Woolsey at the IOA and tell him we may need some help smoothing our way with Mexico. Sheppard, call Mitchell and give him a sit-rep, see if he can't trace that call somehow, and let him know to standby for transport." Jack paused, looked at Teyla and Ronon, then at the NCIS crew. "You folks will be joining us, so just sit here and wait a few minutes while we handle a few pesky details."

Gibbs crossed his arms defiantly, beginning to be peeved at how these flyboys were taking charge. He eyed Ronon and Teyla warily as they quietly moved to take up positions that blocked any exit from his living room. "You don't give orders to NCIS agents, General O'Neill. And if you think I'm just going to sit around when a friend is so obviously in trouble..."

"I do now, Gibbs, and did I ask you to?" O'Neill retorted, pulling out his cell (the others were already calling people on their own phones). "I'm concerned for your friend, too, and not just because of the documents. If you want to help him, then you're just going to have to suck it up and deal with us because _we_ are in a position to be _able_ to help. Now if you'll pardon me," Jack waggled his cell, "I have to call the President." With that, he turned away and made his call.

"What? Boss?" DiNozzo and the others looked very confused and concerned.

"The president of what?" Abby wanted to know.

"There is no ship designated _Odyssey_ that I know of..." Ducky murmured, frowning. "A plane, maybe?"

Gibbs rubbed his face with both hands in annoyance and frustration. "Mike Franks just called. He told me there are suspicious people looking for him around town and he said they blew up his house. Then the line was cut off." He summarized baldly, ignoring their gasps, widening eyes, and horrified expressions. "Leyla and Amira are fine, they weren't home at the time, but I don't know where any of them are now." He watched O'Neill and his people talk into their cells, wondering briefly what crazy situation they were pulling him and his team into. "And I'm pretty certain O'Neill meant the President of the USA, Abby."

"Wow. So he really is a bigwig, if he can do that so casually." Tony muttered.

"We should go into HQ, and I can get a trace started on Mike's call." McGee said

"I don't think we'll be _allowed_, McGee." Ziva replied in a loud whisper, eyeing Teyla and Ronon warily.

Jack snapped his cell shut and looked around at Daniel and SGA-1. "Daniel?"

"Paul said he'd be waiting for us, Jack." The linguist responded. "There is a slight issue in Ms. David's case, though."

"What?" Jack blinked at him, looking over at Ziva for a moment. Then he frowned. "Oh. Right. McKay!"

"...and they, hold on a minute." Rodney scowled at the General. "What?"

"Tell Dick we need Israel's okay to read in their Mossad officer." Jack glared right back. "Let's avoid any diplomatic tangles, shall we?"

"Right." Rodney frowned and turned away again, picking up the conversation.

"Sheppard?" Jack turned to the younger officer.

"Mitchell is standing by, sir, and he's set some people on tracing the call. I suggested transporting us straight to the officer's conference room just off the bridge." John reported.

"Yeah, good idea. They have a lock on all of us?"

"Yes, sir. Our sub-cues and six others in the room, whenever we're ready."

Rodney stuck his phone into his pocket and went to stand next to Sheppard. "Woolsey said to give him ten minutes to call his contact in Israel and explain the situation, General. He says he'll meet us on board with one of the International versions of the necessary documents."

"Understood." Jack gave a sharp nod and faced the NCIS crew. "Alright, listen up. The President is very concerned at the new turn of events, and has given me permission to bring you into the programme, even if it's only part way for the moment as it would take far too long to read you in fully. That's time we don't have. Your clearance will be only for things relating to this case...mission...situation. Whatever you wanna call this fiasco.

"So with this in mind, here's what Sheppard and I have partially already explained to Agent Gibbs: the programme I head is concerned about the documents allegedly involved in Dir. Sheppard's death because we have good reason to believe they could be related to our work. If they are, then this Mike fellow is in a very tight spot. We have several enemies who would be absolutely rabid about getting their hands on those documents and they're not exactly subtle about it, nor are they merciful or humane."

"They sound pretty badass." Tony drawled, then flinched when Gibbs smacked him upside the head. "Shutting up, boss."

"And what is it, precisely, that your work in this super-secret programme entails?" Ducky asked.

Jack rubbed the back of his neck, throwing a sheepish glance at Daniel. "Uh...I really hate this part. No matter how I say it, I always get the 'you're certifiable, O'Neill' response. Danny?"

Daniel rolled his eyes. "Oh sure. Leave it to _me_. Thanks _so_ much, Jack."

"This is _your_ area of expertise, Dr. Jackson. I just kill things and blow stuff up on occasion."

"And you're very good at it." Daniel waved aside the very disgruntled tone. "Fine. What Jack's being too chicken shit to say is that we travel to other planets for a living and in the decade or so we've been doing it we've acquired various and sundry alien enemies as well as friends."

McKay started to snicker. "Obviously you've given up on breaking it to people gently, Daniel."

John's mouth twitched at the incredulous, disbelieving expressions on the NCIS team's faces – except for Abby, who looked about two seconds away from bouncing off the walls in excitement and glee. He couldn't blame them, since he'd probably have reacted in the same way when he found out – if he hadn't been nearly shot down by a drone missile and had it explained to him in an alien facility buried under the Antarctic ice and snow.

"Alien." Gibbs stared at all of them with the exact expression O'Neill feared. "As in...?"

"Every cliché in the book and a whole bunch more you'd never even dreamed of." Jack assured.

"I knew it! I so knew it!" Abby squealed, the bouncing up and down commencing full force. "Aliens! They're real! Didn't I tell you, McGee?" She gave him a hard punch to the bicep.

"Abby...they're kidding." Poor Tim winced and shook his head. "They have to be. There's just too many things that don't add up for aliens and UFOs and all that to be real." He rubbed at his arm, glaring at her. "And OW!"

"I'm afraid it's the truth." McKay huffed. "Though...I do understand your reluctance to believe _us_."

"Okay, enough. Regardless of whether we believe this ridiculousness or not," Gibbs shushed his team with a look, "What makes you so certain the documents are related to you? What evidence do you have?"

"Concrete evidence? None. It's all circumstantial, which is why we need to see them to verify." Jack sighed, "It's why we said if they turned out to _not_ be relevant then we'd happily let you do whatever you wanted with them."

"You have to understand how dangerous having any kind of knowledge of the programme is." Daniel spoke up, tone serious. "I can't tell you how many people have been ruined or even died just because they got caught up in it – whether by voluntarily signing up or somehow stumbling into things. It's a very real risk you're all into now, even with just what we've told you."

"So why are you telling us?" Ducky asked, frowning at him.

"Because we need your help." John said before anyone else could speak up. He was solemn, but no less honest. "And because it is better, in the long run, if you're brought in on our terms than if you kept poking at us yourselves and ended up in the line of fire completely ignorant."

"After you've all signed the forest of trees we've killed, which prohibit telling anyone else – and I do mean _any_one – about this, we'll give you the chance to bow out if you want nothing to do with it." Jack folded his arms over his chest. "We don't keep people against their will, and we totally understand if any of you don't want to take the risks involved."

"But if you do..." McKay smiled faintly, glancing at John first (who smiled back), then at Daniel (who grinned), "...if you do, I promise you'll learn things that will change how you perceive the world entirely."

"You won't scare me off." Gibbs scowled stubbornly. "So quit with the melodrama."

"Where he goes," Tony pointed at the senior agent, "we follow. Isn't that right, Ziva? McGee?"

"Yes." Ziva nodded.

"Yeah." McGee agreed bravely, despite looking apprehensive about it all.

"You couldn't tear me away with a metric ton of C4." Abby grinned.

Ducky was silent for a moment, then sighed. "I doubt I will be of much help, Jethro, unless you – god forbid – send me bodies. However, I prefer being in the loop, as it were, than not. I will join you, and help however I can."

Jack nodded, pleased. "Excellent." He glanced at his watch. "Close enough. Sheppard."

John motioned to Teyla and Ronon to join them, and dialled the number that would be routed through to _Odyssey_, orbiting the planet.

"So..." Tony watched him, frowning slightly. "Exactly where are we going?"

Daniel grinned. "Ever want to be an astronaut, Agent DiNozzo?"

Six sets of eyes blinked at him, and before anyone could speak, the bright glow of the Asgard beam enveloped them all.

* * *

Colonel Paul Davis and Richard Woolsey were waiting in the officers' conference room with Mitchell when they were once again aware of their surroundings. As non-descript as the room was (having had any sort of identifying features removed or covered up by the crew), it was still very obviously not Gibbs' living room. The NCIS team were in varying states of shock, amazement, confusion, and there was even a little fear.

"What the _hell_ just happened?" It was Ziva who finally demanded explanations, having recovered her voice the fastest. For once, even Gibbs was slightly off-kilter.

Mitchell and Davis snapped to attention and saluted Jack, though their expressions were openly friendly and even amused.

"Sir! Welcome aboard." Mitchell offered.

"Thank you. At least this time I wasn't kidnapped." Jack shot Daniel a look, and pulled out a seat at the head of the oval shaped conference table, dropping down into it. Daniel scowled back and sat next to him, on his right.

"You're never going to forgive me for that, are you?"

"Not likely, no."

SGA-1 took seats down the table on Daniel's side, and the NCIS team slowly moved to seat themselves on Jack's left. Mitchell excused himself, and Jack motioned for Davis to get to it. Woolsey began distributing the thick folders he had amongst the NCIS members.

"Well, as you've been told by General O'Neill, we require you to sign these non-disclosure and confidentiality agreements before you can be further read into the programme. I'm Colonel Paul Davis, the General's Executive Officer, and I'll see these are processed immediately. This is Richard Woolsey. He is our country's representative with the IOA – the International Oversight Advisory committee – which is an international council that oversees the operation of the programme." Davis began, introducing himself and Woolsey to them.

"So this isn't just a US operation?" Gibbs asked, flipping open his documents and accepting a pen that was offered.

"It began that way. But something so big and dangerous couldn't be hidden away forever. Nor could the US continue to fund the programme alone for long." Woolsey answered. "Please feel free to read through everything before signing where indicated, and ask any questions you may have about the legalities involved."

"How much funding are we talking about?" Tony wondered.

"Let's just say the power bill for one day at Cheyenne Mountain gives new meaning to the term 'astronomical.'" Jack drawled wryly, remembering General George Hammond's gentle reminders whenever Jack had complained about it in the past.

Ziva took the file Woolsey handed her, pausing before opening it. "My government...they are aware of this also?"

"Yes." Woolsey nodded. "We have several Israeli personnel involved in another mission, both civilian and military. I spoke with your leaders myself, and they have approved your admission to the programme. If you wish to speak to them first, yourself, it can be arranged."

Ziva hesitated, glanced at Gibbs, then shook her head. "No, that will not be necessary." There could be consequences to this, she was certain, but what she could learn here outweighed that so she bravely flipped open the file, took the pen, and began signing away without bothering to read anything.

"Just give us the legal gist of all this, Mr. Woolsey." Gibbs requested, eyeing the papers. "We don't have time to read through all this."

"Basically you're agreeing to never speak of any of this or any of what may occur during the course of this investigation of this matter to anyone not involved in the programme or approved by the people in charge – in this case, Gen. O'Neill, Col. Sheppard, myself, or Daniel. If you do, you can be arrested, charged, and incarcerated without representation or a trial under the NSA directives listed." Davis responded before Woolsey could. "It would be very much as if you were a terrorist, and one of the charges would likely be treason. In Officer David's case, she would be convicted here then returned to her government where, I imagine, they have their own way of dealing with such matters."

Ziva looked up, expressionless, and said only, "Indeed."

McGee looked faintly horrified and a little freaked, Tony frowned deeply, and Abby shook her head sadly. Ducky finished signing and closed the file.

"I can assure you that any concern for our discretion is unfounded. We are all quite used to keeping secrets, Colonel."

Woolsey took out an ink pad from his briefcase and offered it to the M.E. "Right thumb and index finger, Dr. Mallard, on the last page you signed, please." Ducky obliged, and Woolsey moved along as each one completed their forms. "The documents are as much for your protection as the programme, Doctor. And we believe you are trustworthy or else President Hayes would never have agreed to read you in."

After a few more moments, the legal issues were completed and Woolsey gathered up all the documents. He and Davis left to process it all, and Jack nudged Daniel with an elbow to go ahead and lay it all out for their NCIS guests.

"Okay, so, you asked what happened, Ziva." Daniel leaned forward on his arms, folded on the table in front of him. "As I said, we've been travelling to other planets for over a decade now. We started out using a device that was discovered on the Giza plateau in 1928. We call it a Stargate, and it operates by generating a stable wormhole between itself and another Gate through which matter and energy can travel the kinds of distances that we once thought were impossible in mere seconds." Daniel glanced down the table to Rodney briefly. "Dr. McKay is more capable of explaining the science behind it all, but that's the layman's explanation." Rodney nodded magnanimously.

"So anyway, we've been exploring planets around the galaxy for over ten years now, and in that time we've met many alien peoples – some are friendly, and others...not even a little bit. One of these friendly peoples, a race called the Asgard, were a highly advanced race who had long ago mastered space travel with ships. They helped us to develop and create our own ships for space travel, among other technologies that have been vital to saving the planet many, many times."

"You are currently on board our best ship in the fleet, the Odyssey." McKay picked up when Daniel paused to take a breath and let them take it all in. "We are in a low-earth orbit somewhere above North America, I believe. We got here via another handy bit of Asgard tech – a transportation beam that acts almost like a wormhole, where matter is broken down to the molecular level and re-materialized in an instant."

Abby's eyes were huge. "Like Star Trek! Beam me up, Scotty!"

McKay rolled his eyes in exasperation but nodded when John kicked him lightly under the table in warning, hearing the biting retort his friend typically bestowed on people who asked that question. "Very basically like that, yes, and you do know they never _actually_ said that, right?"

"Oh my god! I've entered the Twilight Zone!" Tony gawked. "Or an episode of the X-Files."

"Aliens? Truly?" Ziva was rather wide-eyed herself. "What do they look like?"

"We can talk about aliens some other time." Gibbs interrupted, looking somewhat shaken at the new worldview being dumped on them, but still focused enough to drag them all back on topic. "Get to the part where it involves Jenny and those documents you're so hot to find."

"Another alien race called the Goa'uld are the ones we're probably dealing with in this case." Jack responded. "Well, a specific snake, actually. We've been successful in pretty much destroying the bastards, but this one's been equally successful in surviving. He calls himself Baal, and he controls a group here on Earth known as the Trust."

"Snake?" McGee wondered.

"The Goa'uld are a parasitic race. They inhabit other beings, and take complete control of them. They are extremely intelligent, and very dangerous. Baal is the last of the System Lords – those Goa'uld that have ruled over the galaxy for thousands of years unchallenged." Daniel explained, looking grim. "They set themselves up as gods, using the technology and knowledge they've scavenged from other races, and kept most of the galaxy under their thumbs with it."

"Until we came along." Jack smirked. "Of course...they picked the fight first. Anyway, Baal is the last one, and he's been doing his best to be a pain in our asses at every opportunity. It's likely that his organization, the Trust, is responsible for whatever happened to your friend, Agent Gibbs, down in Mexico, and perhaps even what happened to Jenny Sheppard."

John frowned. "You think the Trust is looking for the documents?"

"Well it can't be the Russians. They have no reason to go about it so back-ass-wards because of their own significant participation in the programme." Jack reasoned. "I asked Davis and Woolsey to ask our Russian friends about it, and they deny any involvement. They say if the documents contain any data from that time period where they ran their own programme, they didn't know about it and have offered any and all assistance in retrieving them."

"I'm sorry, but…you're losing us." Tony interrupted. "What do you mean?"

"The mission Jenny Sheppard was on nine years ago may have inadvertently gotten her involved in the programme. At the time, the Russians were running their own Gate programme using the Gate they recovered from the Atlantic…" Daniel broke off, "…long story. The point is that the documents in question likely contained data from that time period, concerning the Russian's programme. She may not have known what it was she had, and that other Agent…Decker? He probably didn't know exactly either. But just having them was risky enough."

"Jesus." Sheppard cursed. "With all due respect, sir, when were you planning on telling me – us – this little theory?"

O'Neill's glare was stony. "Watch it, Colonel. I'm only going to be so tolerant and understanding. And to answer your question. I'd only just put it together with the information Agent Gibbs gave us this evening."

John flushed and stared hard at the table top, sitting rigidly in his seat. "My apologies, General. It won't happen again."

McKay cleared his throat and suggested, "Why don't we go see how the trace is coming? I'm sure Mitchell has found something by now."

O'Neill stood up, followed swiftly by everyone else, and nodded. "You do that, McKay. Sheppard, Gibbs, hang back a moment, please."

Rodney took his cue and gestured for the others to follow him. "Come along, people. I'll yell if we have something." He said as he passed by John. Sheppard nodded and watched them file out.

Daniel sat back down in his seat, giving Jack his best innocent face when the older man frowned at him.

"Daniel…"

"Jack."

"What are you doing?"

"Mediating. It's what I do."

Gibbs chuckled. "You're a quick one."

Daniel grinned back. "Not really. I just know Jack and his ways far too well."

"We don't need mediating, Daniel." Jack rolled his eyes at his anthropologist. "this is more a mission than an investigation, and Sheppard is lead. I'm involving Gibbs and his team because they may be able to help us, and because the situation with the Navy is already a nightmare. I don't need it to turn into a catastrophe, too." Jack turned to the NCIS Agent, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. "I'm sure you understand how this is going to work, Agent Gibbs – how it _has_ to work for the security of the programme. I'd rather not make enemies of you or NCIS by cutting you out of it, but if you don't think you can deal with it, then…"

"General, I may not like it, but I'm not a fool, and I'm not arrogant enough to believe I have all the answers or that I can handle the situation alone. That you're allowing us in on this at all is way more than I've ever expected or hoped for from anyone outside NCIS." Gibbs stated, somewhat wry. "We're low on the intelligence food-chain, so we're used to being left out in the cold. I don't have a problem working with you people – so long as my people are never ordered to do anything against _my_ wishes, especially if it involves a situation where they could be injured or killed."

Jack looked at Sheppard. "You copy?"

"Yes, sir. I'd expect nothing less of myself, sir."

"Knock it off." Jack grunted, hating being sir-ed to death. "Alrighty then. Go save the world." Jack waved them off. "Keep in touch. I'll be at home." He eyed Daniel questioningly.

"I'll stay here, Jack, until this is over." Daniel responded with a shake of his head.

"Fine. Just…be careful." Jack warned, hesitating in the doorway. "Sheppard!"

"Sir?" John froze at the bark of his name, coming to attention almost unconsciously.

"Anything happens to him under your watch and I find out…and I will…and it's your fault…" Jack's glare froze John's blood. "A Wraith queen will seem like your fairy godmother compared to me."

John paled and nodded quickly. "Sir, yes sir!"

Daniel scowled and whacked Jack on the arm. "Stop that! Go home, Jack."

"Gonna at least see me off?"

"Whatever. Just stop threatening John."

Still pale, John watched them head for the Ring room. Beside him, Gibbs observed, "You work with some very…interesting people, Sheppard."

"You don't know the half of it, Agent Gibbs. We all have to be a little bit crazy to do what we do, I think." John shook his head and turned, walking to the bridge. Gibbs followed.

"What exactly do you do?" The older man wanted to know.

"I'm the military commander on our base in the Pegasus galaxy. McKay is our Chief Scientist. Teyla and Ronon are both natives of Pegasus who joined up with us to help defeat our own resident evil alien bad guys – the Wraith." John explained. "They're nasty. Even worse than the Goa'uld."

"How?" Gibbs couldn't believe there was anything worse than a parasite that wanted to take over your body. And did he seriously just think that?

"The Wraith evolved from an insect called the Iratus. Both the bugs and the Wraith feed from the energy of living beings – meaning us humans." John shuddered, having experienced both, and made a face. "The snakes just want to take us over or enslave us. The Wraith consider us food – cattle – and want to _eat_ us."

"That's…highly disturbing."

"There's no word to describe how disturbing it is." John agreed.

"And Dr. Jackson? What's his story?"

"Jackson and O'Neill _are_ the programme." Mitchell responded before John could, having heard the question as Sheppard and Gibbs entered the bridge. "They started it all. Jackson opened the Gate, and O'Neill led the first team through over eleven years ago."

"I still believe Sam would have done it herself." McKay grumbled lowly, continuing to have a high opinion of Carter's abilities despite any past issues he had with her work and her lack of interest in him, personally.

"Rodney…" John warned, then smirked, "And who was it, pray tell, who figured out the eight-symbol address? Not even you can claim that one."

"Fine, fine! Rub it in some more."

Mitchell chuckled. "We have quite a few geniuses in the programme..."

"Ha! Debatable."

John not-so-subtly thwacked Rodney on the arm.

"…well, according to that one," Mitchell continued, ignoring the glaring contest the two were having (Rodney rubbing his abused arm) and gesturing at McKay, "there are maybe two or three other than himself. But I don't think he'll agree to strongly against saying one of them is Daniel."

"One of what is me?" The linguist inquired, strolling in.

"A genius." John grinned, not even wincing when Rodney whacked _him_ on the arm in return. Daniel just looked confused.

"For someone who's in the soft sciences." Rodney huffed, grudgingly conceding the point.

Daniel, all too familiar with Rodney's opinion of both himself and the so-called 'soft sciences,' just grinned at him.

"Can we get back to the problem at hand?" Gibbs asked, more concerned with that than what these people did or thought of each other. "General O'Neill said you were running a trace?"

"Yep." Mitchell nodded and went to take his seat in the dreaded Chair. "Major Lacey, if you would…" he requested of his communications officer and swivelled in the chair to face the large screen to his left. Gibbs walked up close to it as a geographical map popped.

"The call was made from a payphone outside what scans show to be a service station." The Major informed them all. "Records declare the place abandoned and is slated for demolition in a month."

"Okay…but…" Tony was frowning at the screen. "Why was he in Phoenix? I thought he was in Mexico? And how did you run a trace when you don't have Gibbs' number? It's unlisted!"

Ziva pulled a Gibbs and smacked Tony upside the head. "You do not seriously believe they have no way of getting unlisted numbers, Tony."

"Ow!" Tony glared hard at her. "You do not get to do that!"

"First flight he could get?" McGee suggested, ignoring them.

"Following a lead." Ziva speculated, smirking at Tony.

"Or a random destination to throw off anyone following him." Gibbs said, turning away from the screen. "I doubt he's even in the city any longer. He's either moved on or…something happened to him."

A moment of silence descended over the bridge, and it was Ducky who broke it.

"Jethro, if he's no longer there, as you suspect, then how do you expect to find him?"

Gibbs didn't answer, but did start giving orders. "Tony, take Ziva and McGee down to that payphone and take a look around."

"What are we looking for, boss?" Tony asked.

"Oh, I don't know, DiNozzo…_anything_! I want to know if he just left or was removed." Gibbs snapped.

"Right! On it!" Tony knew when to cut and run, and started toward the door automatically, only to stop abruptly when he remembered he was hovering above the planet in a spaceship. "Uh…"

"We'll beam you wherever you like, Agent DiNozzo." Mitchell assured. "But first…you'll all need to stop by our infirmary."

They all looked at him. "What? The infirmary? Why?" McGee asked, confused and looking a tad worried.

"So the Doc can outfit each of you with a very small, sub-coetaneous transmitter. It's how we'll be able to find you and beam you out of places, if necessary, but will be completely untraceable by anyone but ourselves – the programme." Mitchell explained.

Abby clearly wanted to ask all sorts of questions, practically bouncing up and down in place where she stood. McGee just nodded, not looking quite as worried as before but still unsettled. Tony was frowning – almost as much as Ziva and Gibbs. Ducky just shook his head.

"Col. Mitchell, I do not believe that such measures are necessary for myself or Abigail. We are not field agents, and I doubt very much that we'll be called upon in such a capacity." The M.E. stated quietly. "In fact, it may be best if you returned Abby and myself to Gibbs' home, so that we might return to work in the morning as normally as possible. Our Director will be curious about tonight's events, and even more so about all their whereabouts when they do not return to work."

"Jack will handle that." Daniel assured, but shared a look with Mitchell. "We can always drop in if we need them…"

"You're staying aboard?" His teammate asked.

"For now."

"Mitchell shrugged and slouched in the Chair, looking over at Sheppard. "Your party, Shep."

"If they want to leave, then fine. It would probably be best as Dr. Mallard said." John shrugged, too, passing the decision along. "Gibbs?"

"Yeah. Go Duck, Abby. Keep an eye on things back at the office." Gibbs raised an eyebrow at Abby, who looked extremely unhappy at being about to be removed from her dream. "Abby, you know you can't stay here or take anything back to play with."

"Yeah, but…how am I supposed to work and act normal as if you and Tony and Ziva and McGee aren't out chasing down aliens? _Aliens_, Gibbs!" She bemoaned. McGee patted her shoulder consolingly.

"Bad guys, Abby. Alien or not, they're bad guys, and we catch 'em. Not so different than our usual cases, right?" Tony said, smiling at her. "We'll keep in touch."

"Promise?" When they nodded, she sighed and went to stand next to Ducky. "Fine. But if we don't get regular check-ins…"

"We'll take good care of them, Miss Sciuto." Sheppard promised. He nodded at Mitchell, who gave the command to beam the two back to Gibbs' living room. A bright light surrounded Abby and Ducky and in the next instant they were gone.

"We've got gear for all of you waiting." Cameron announced, rising from the Chair and motioning for SGA-1 and the NCIS team to follow him. "Come along, boys and girls, and let's get over to the Doc for those sub-cues."


	7. Chapter 7

_Disclaimer:_ The author does not own any of NCIS or Stargate, only borrows them for the sake of this fanfiction. No profit is made by the writing of this story.

_Warnings:_ Anything one expects to see on Stargate or NCIS, expect it here; also, slash in the form of Jack/Daniel, and John/Rodney; het pairings include Tony/Ziva, Gibbs/Jenny.

_If you dislike such things, or are underage, do not read!_

* * *

_Big thanks to Emergency70 for the beta!_

**Chapter VII**

John stood back and watched as the NCIS team geared up in the TAC vests and weapon holsters that the _Odyssey_ crew had provided for them all. His own people – and himself – had gone to get themselves geared up while Gibbs and team were getting their transmitters in the infirmary. General O'Neill had thoughtfully gathered the equipment they'd brought with them from Atlantis and had it beamed up for them (Rodney's tablet laptop and whatever was in his pack, Ronon's gun, John's favourite LSD, and all their black leather team jackets – the non-descript ones that had no identifying badges or writing on them for those missions where they wanted to keep their affiliation with Atlantis or the SGC secret). Daniel had asked a helpful crew member for comms and ZATS for all of SGA-1, too.

The NCIS team wouldn't have ZATS, of course, but they were provided guns and ammo, since none of them had their service weapons on them. Ronon was inspecting the ZAT Daniel had given him, curious, and Teyla was nodding as the linguist explained their use to the two Pegasus natives. Rodney was grumbling under his breath about how stingy the SGC was, not sending the Atlantis expedition any ZATS _ever_ in the last four years (excluding the year they spent incommunicado). John kind of agreed with his friend on all that grumbling, but didn't say anything since there wasn't a thing he could do about it that he hadn't already tried.

Gibbs was ready almost immediately – no surprise there – and helped Tony figure out some of the straps for the thigh holster, being unused to this gear (it was a little different than the tactical gear he was used to as an agent or cop). Ziva was nearly as quick as Gibbs, and helped poor Tim McGee with all his gear when he got tangled up, since he'd rarely had occasion to wear any such gear, even at NCIS.

Once they were all geared up and comm checks were completed, Daniel stood back and waved a little, wishing them luck as they were beamed down near the payphone in Phoenix, AZ, where Mike Franks had made his call to Gibbs.

Thanks to the time difference, there was still a bit of daylight out – but not much. It was rapidly getting darker, which would make checking the scene out much more difficult. Gibbs said as much to Sheppard, and John nodded and replied, "Then let's go. Ronon, Teyla, bring up our six."

Gibbs kept up with Sheppard as they quickly, quietly, and with all due stealth crept through the darkened alleyway toward the street and the abandoned service station. Tony and Ziva followed their leaders, with McGee and McKay right behind them, Teyla and Ronon last but not least. Just before they hit the street, John called a halt behind a couple old dumpsters and pulled out his LSD from his vest.

"What's that?" Gibbs asked, in a voice low enough not to carry beyond their group.

"Handy little thing we picked up in Pegasus. Basically it tells me if there are any people or whatever in our vicinity." John explained quietly, showing the screen to the older man. "That group of dots is us, and you can see there's no one else around for a good half-mile radius." He pushed it back into his vest and motioned, signalling an all-clear. "Let's go. We need to make this quick."

Gibbs nodded once in agreement and led his people to the street and around the corner. They found the payphone, its receiver dangling by the cord, and obvious signs of struggle. Gibbs frowned, not liking that at all. "Look around, people." He directed, crouching down to study the broken Plexiglas scattered around the booth.

"Uh…boss? What exactly are we looking for?" Tony asked, doing as ordered but still unsure what he was supposed to find. Ziva and McGee exchanged glances and quickly made themselves scarce, checking out the parking lot and abandoned building. They didn't even protest when Teyla and Ronon split off to accompany each of them. McKay stuck with John, who was basically keeping watch with his LSD in hand, awhile the NCIS team did their thing.

"Gee, DiNozzo…" Gibbs answered in a tone so heated _and_ frosty at the same time it came out frighteningly calm and reasonable. Tony knew that tone all too well, and knew it was deceptively even-tempered. He flinched and smacked himself on the back of the head, even as Gibbs continued, "I don't know! A clue, maybe?"

"Of course, boss! Blonde moment." Tony eased away, deciding to go look around the parking lot with Ziva and the big guy, Ronon. It looked safer.

John raised an eyebrow, faintly amused, but made no comment. Instead, he checked the LSD, then glanced at his best friend. "I don't suppose doing any scans would be useful, would they, McKay?"

"Not unless you expect me to find a ZPM lying around, no." Rodney retorted. But he pulled out his own LSD – the modified one he'd tweaked himself to scan for energy readings other than life signs (among other little things he'd found useful on occasion). "But then, it doesn't hurt to look, anyway." He muttered.

Gibbs stood and carefully inspected the booth. "There's blood around here, but not much. If it's Mike's, then he's probably alive."

John nodded grimly, hugging his P90 close to his chest. "They'd want him alive to get the location of the documents from him."

"Yeah. Though, I have to wonder how they knew he even had them to begin with."

"I don't know, but we'll find out." Sheppard replied, grimly.

"There's something else." Gibbs studied what looked like burn marks everywhere that the Plexiglas had broken from on the booth. "This is strange."

At which point Rodney spoke up. "We have weapons' fire, Colonel. My scans show residual energy from the blasts." He looked up from his LSD, expression grave. "If I didn't know better, I'd have said Wraith, but more likely it's the energy signature of a Jaffa staff weapon. I can confirm that on _Odyssey_."

John frowned deeply. "That's not good. And you can't tell with your scanner thing?"

"No, it's not good at all, and no, I can't because I didn't program it for energy signatures from _this_ galaxy, Colonel. It was a pointless idea since there are no Jaffa or Goa'uld in Pegasus." McKay explained grumpily.

"Of course, Rodney."

"So that means what, exactly?" Gibbs demanded, cutting in agitatedly.

"It means, Agent Gibbs, that the Trust is looking for those documents, which means your friend is in their custody now – very likely which means this whole debacle just got very, very dangerous and complicated." Rodney answered, glaring up at the darkened, twilight sky. "let's just hope the NID keep their noses out of it. I hate dealing with those idiots."

John sighed. There were times when he disliked his job, and this was turning into one of those times.

"Gibbs!"

Ziva's voice called out and they looked in her direction as McGee and Teyla emerged from the building.

"Nothing, boss. It's empty." McGee reported apologetically.

"Ziva's got something." Gibbs strode over to her. "What is it?"

She solemnly held out a leather wallet in one gloved hand. "It was in this tall grass, here."

"And there are footprints and tire tracks, boss." Tony added, though he was certain that this crime scene was not going to be investigated their normal way.

Gibbs took the wallet and opened it. The first thing he saw was Mike's driver's license and the worn photo of his daughter-in-law, Leyla, and granddaughter, Amira. He swallowed back the anger, fear, and frustration, and said harshly, "Damn it all, Mike."

"It's his?" John asked.

"Yeah." Gibbs confirmed, quickly rifling through the contents to see if anything was out of place, missing, or a helpful clue. A white business card was folded between two twenty dollar bills, and Gibbs pulled it free.

"What is it, boss?" tony wondered as Gibbs read it.

"Hotel business card." Gibbs had to smile a little. "A hotel here in Phoenix."

"So we go there and check it out?" McKay wanted to know.

"How do you know he even has a room there?" John was still frowning. "He might have just picked up the card intending to go back later, after he'd contacted you, Gibbs."

"I know because of this." Gibbs held the card out to the officer, who took it and read the backside at a glance.

"It's a bunch of numbers…" John blinked. "It looks like a service number."

"It's me, Sheppard."

John raised his eyes, understanding dawning. Ah. I get it." He handed the card back.

"So we go?" McKay repeated.

"Yep. We need a car though." Gibbs sighed. "As handy as it is, we can't beam into the hotel or anything."

"Right." John raised a hand to his radio. "We'll go back to _Odyssey_, and I'll arrange transportation."

"Are you sure we should go there tonight?" Teyla asked, frowning thoughtfully. "Perhaps our search would be better continued in daylight."

"We need to at least check the hotel tonight." McGee was the one who answered. SGA-1 looked at him, and he glanced around at everyone. "Even if we don't find Mike Franks, we still should be looking for his family, too. They need to be protected."

Teyla's eyes widened, and she nodded. "Yes, of course. Forgive me for not understanding."

"It's fine, Ms. Emmagan." Gibbs waved it away. "You didn't know about them. McGee is right. I know I won't sleep until the girls are safe, so we're going to the hotel." He glanced at the card's address. "I don't know where this is, so we should get a map or something."

John tapped his radio. "Sheppard to _Odyssey_, beam us aboard. We've got a lead."

"_Odyssey_ here, Colonel. We copy." Daniel's voice answered and in the next instant they were back on the bridge of the ship, face-to-face with the multi-talented linguist. "What did you find?"

"A wallet. Franks'. With a card for a hotel in Phoenix." McKay was already moving to a computer console. "Give me the address and I'll find it."

"We'll have to leave most of our gear behind." Sheppard said as the scientist ran the search for the hotel. "We can't go in fully geared up, much as I'd prefer it after what we found down there."

Gibbs nodded in agreement. "We can handle ourselves, Colonel, I assure you."

"What _else_ did you find?" Mitchell asked with a frown.

"Weapons fire – likely from a Jaffa staff weapon." McKay responded. "The payphone and the boot were blasted into bits."

Mitchell and Daniel winced, exchanging worried glances. "So it is the Trust – and/or Baal?" Daniel sighed unhappily. "Jack's gonna hit the roof."

Ziva gave him a look. "I have noticed some very…turbulent emotions from you all concerning this – what did you call it? Goa'uld? You have some personal issues with this creature beyond the obvious?" Her expression said she wasn't quite sure she believed she as saying such things, talking about aliens and what not like it was a common occurrence.

Mitchell rubbed at the back of his neck, one eye on his teammate as Daniel scowled behind his glasses and nodded sharply once. "That's one way of putting it, ma'am." The ship's commander drawled.

"What did he – it – do?" Tony wanted to know, nosy as ever.

"All you need to know is that Baal is extremely intelligent, sneaky, and dangerous. He won't hesitate to kill you if you get in his way – unless he thinks you can be useful to him, in which case you'll likely end up tortured until you talk or find yourself snaked." Daniel paced the short space between the view screen and consoles agitatedly. "And to be honest, death is preferable to either one of those options."

"We aren't exaggerating here, folks." Mitchell warned, seeing their expressions and the obvious doubt of SG-1's seriousness. "This guy and the people who work for him are not the sort of bad guys you're used to. These guys are a whole new level of Bad. They're scary enough on their own, but they've also got equally scary weapons and technology at their disposal – and Baal isn't the sort to _not_ use whatever he's got on anyone who gets in his way."

It wasn't only the NCIS people who were frowning about Mitchell and Daniel's words. Teyla and Ronon weren't looking too enthused, either – despite their brief run-in with the Goa'uld (whoever it was) that had taken over Colonel Caldwell of the _Daedalus_ a couple years earlier. Still, John wasn't all that concerned about their ability to deal with this galaxy's bad guys. They had, after all, survived their whole lives under the Wraith threat in Pegasus, and no matter what, the Wraith were much scarier than the Goa'uld any day of the week. Dangerous, yes. Scary, no.

"They do have a weakness, however." McKay spoke up, joining the discussion again, and stepping up close to sand next to John. "Arrogance. Their egos are the biggest you'll ever find." Which was truly something to hear coming from _Rodney_.

"Baal's certainly is." Mitchell agreed, dryly.

"He's also power-hungry and a control freak with a huge dose of narcissism." Daniel added. "He'll spend a lot of his time trying to get you to admit how all great and powerful he is. They all did – do. They called themselves 'gods' for millennia."

"Gods?" McGee repeated, incredulous.

"Yes. In particular, the Egyptian pantheon. Even some of the Greek pantheon." Daniel sighed at the shock on their faces. "I know. Kind of a let-down, right?"

"Uh, Daniel, I don't think that's why they look so surprised." McKay chuckled.

"We should ditch our gear, if McKay's got our destination?" Sheppard looked to Rodney for confirmation (the scientist nodded) and then at Mitchell. "Could you arrange for a vehicle or two for us?"

"Sure thing. Get squared away, Sheppard, and I'll take care of the pesky details." Mitchell gave a smile and a sloppy salute of two-fingers as his fellow officer led everyone to the ready-room to change."

* * *

When Mitchell said he'd take care of their transportation needs, John hadn't thought much about it, figuring some unsuspecting Airmen would drive a couple fleet vehicles from wherever, or maybe some rental agency would mysteriously have two cars ready and waiting for them.

John had forgotten Mitchell had a _spaceship_ at his disposal – a spaceship with Asgard beams that were capable of beaming just about any_thing_ any_where_. Mitchell also learned well from Jack O'Neill in the use of power, rank, and position, using his ship to requisition two SUCs from Nellis and beam them to Phoenix. John preferred not to think about the logistics and such this involved (to do it all without being seen by any innocent civilians on the ground) and went with a "don't ask" policy).

McGee, on the other hand, marvelled at it. Mitchell just grinned and shrugged, patting the arm of the Chair proudly as he drawled, "One of the ships beamed an entire skyscraper, once." The young agent goggled at the idea of that.

And so they were currently driving the two SUVs through Phoenix to the hotel, NCIS in one car and SGA-1 in the other. The trip was made mostly silent – both teams aware that their conversations could be heard by the other team over the comm. Units – and with the air of anticipation that came with the territory when in pursuit of something or someone.

John could see the same adrenaline-fuelled tension in Ronon that he was feeling himself. Really, if it had been an option, the big guy would have _run_ to the hotel. On foot. Teyla, on the other hand, was quite calm, despite the noticeable tension in her posture and an alertness that came from the adrenaline rather than restfulness. Rodney, however, was appearing very much like he did back home in Atlantis whenever some crisis was going on that he was trying to solve without having slept for a few days. It was that sort of alertness that came with over-tiredness. John gripped the steering wheel tighter and sighed a little as he remembered they were running on D.C. time – a couple hours ahead of them, now, in Phoenix. No wonder they were _all_ getting punchy.

"This is it." Rodney suddenly declared, pointing out the windshield at the glowing lights of the hotel's sign. John hit his signal and turned into the parking lot, pulling into a parking stall off to one side of the building that had a view of the main doors but was hidden partially in shadow. He got out of the SUV as Gibbs pulled in next to them and cut the engine.

"I'll go in with you, Gibbs. My team will cover the building outside." John stated decisively when the agent joined him outside before Gibbs could say anything.

"Fine. McGee, stay with the vehicles, just in case." Gibbs agreed easily (having figured it was what Sheppard would want to do), and started issuing commands to his people. "DiNozzo, David, recon inside."

"On it, boss!" Tony offered an arm to Ziva and said, "Shall we check out the lounge, Ziva darling?"

She rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand, pulling him along after her as she stalked toward the hotel, "We are not here to play, Tony."

"Ow! Aw, come on , Ziva!"

John smirked, and glanced at Rodney. "You can go with Teyla or Ronon, McKay, or you can stay here. Your choice." He offered, noting his scientist looking very un-eager to go running around in the dark.

"Uh…I'll stay with the car." Rodney frowned, glancing at the hotel briefly. "Besides, if something happens I'm the only one other than you who can drive." It was a valid, perfectly good excuse.

"True. Go." John said, turning to Gibbs as Teyla and Ronon swiftly disappeared into the darkness. Rodney slid into the driver's seat with a grunt. "Alright, Gibbs. Your show."

Gibbs nodded and headed for hotel reception, John striding alongside.

There was a moment of silence between the two vehicles, and then McGee rolled the window down and leaned out a little to speak to McKay.

"So…aliens, huh? What's that like?"

McKay groaned (cursing mentally and rethinking his decision not to tag along with Teyla – not Ronon, though, because Rodney could never keep up) and, instead of answering, shot back, "So…crime novelist, huh? How much of what you write is based on your real-life cases?"

If the kid was shocked that McKay knew, he didn't let on.

* * *

It was a nice hotel. Clean, organized functionally, and welcoming, it was somewhere between not quite family-oriented like a typical Holiday Inn and not quite fancy business chic like a Hilton. John kind of liked it.

Gibbs didn't waste time. He headed for reception without even pausing to look around – though if he was as good as John had the sneaking suspicion he was, the former Marine likely threat assessed the entire place within visual range at a bare glance as he walked. Reassured that at least the man wouldn't be a complete liability on this disaster of a mission-cum-investigation, John followed along with the casual, laid-back grace that came naturally to him and garnered plenty of attention.

Just not the sort that would be a hindrance.

He leaned back against the counter, taking in the area in his own TA (spotting Tony and Ziva at the bar of the open lounge just off the lobby) while Gibbs pulled out his NCIS identification and badge to flash at the receptionist who came to serve them.

"Gibbs." The agent declared quietly and calmly, but no less firmly. "NCIS. Can you tell me if a young, Middle-Eastern woman and a little girl, no more than two years old, recently checked in?"

"NCIS? What's that? Like CSI?" The woman asked in confusion, looking apologetic despite her apparent ignorance. "I'm sorry, sir, but I cannot give out guest information…"

Gibbs frowned, reminding himself that there wasn't much reason for someone in Phoenix, Arizona to have ever heard of or dealt with NCIS, as there wasn't exactly a Navy or Marine base around, and therefore not to lose it on the innocent woman. John, however, was quick to jump in like the Special Ops soldier he was.

"Naval Criminal Investigative Service, ma'am. If you could help us out, it'd be much appreciated." He flashed his patented Sheppard grin – the one that immediately set Rodney to sputtering and griping about his apparently inherent charm and good looks whenever he used it around his friend, and, typically, he charmed whichever alien Chief or princess or whoever into whatever they wanted. "They are supposed to have checked in here, and we really need to speak to them."

"The Navy?" The receptionist's eyebrows went skyward in scepticism. "Well, without a warrant I'm afraid…"

"Listen, before you say no," John overrode her quickly, "you should know we're not here to arrest her or anything. She's done nothing wrong. We just want to talk to her about her father." John leaned in conspiratorially and continued in a low voice, wincing internally and hoping Gibbs would forgive him later. "He's done a lot of bad things, you see, and we've come to find her and tell her it's save for her to take her daughter home."

Gibbs blinked, the only sign he gave to that big fat lie, but went with it like the professional _he_ was. "Really, ma'am, we'd appreciate it if you could…"

"Gibbs!"

He was cut off by the accented voice of a surprised young woman, standing in front of a closing elevator door with an adorable little girl in her arms. Gibbs whirled and smiled in relief, hurrying toward her.

"Leyla!"

John scratched his head bemusedly and flashed another smile at the receptionist. "Never mind. Thanks anyway." He said, quickly striding away to join Gibbs, who was directing the woman, Leyla, out of the way to where they wouldn't' be easily overheard. Sitting down at a table in the lounge, off in one corner, Gibbs was still smiling as Leyla relinquished her daughter to his open arms.

"Say hello to your godfather, Amira." She said, smiling fondly at the two.

The child babbled happily and hung onto Gibbs with the typical enthusiastic affection of a toddler. John couldn't help but be immediately charmed – by both Amira and her mother, but also by Gibbs' obvious devotion to the little one. The man, John was beginning to see, was as multi-faceted as any gemstone.

"This is Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, Leyla." Gibbs introduced him, nodding, seeing that his hands were full. "Sheppard, meet Leyla Shakarji, and my goddaughter, Amira."

John smiled and offered a hand to Leyla, who shook it briefly and said, "Hello," in return. John chuckled when Amira just played shy and tucked her face into Gibbs' neck.

"Not that I am unhappy to see you, Gibbs, but…what are you doing here, and how did you find me?" Leyla asked, getting right down to it.

"Mike." Was all Gibbs said in answer. He shook his head when she looked like she was going to ask questions. "Not here. You're checked in?"

Leyla nodded. "An hour ago. Mike said if he did not return in an hour, I was to come here and get a room for the night. He said he was going to try and find out what was going on, but didn't know how long it would take." Her dark eyes filled with worry.

Gibbs sighed and reached out, taking her hand gently to give it a reassuring squeeze. "It'll be alright. But right now, you need to trust me. We'll go get your things and got out of here to someplace safe. Then we'll talk."

Leyla frowned, confused and scared, but with a backbone of steel as she looked at her daughter, then Gibbs and John. "As you wish. But I want to know what's going on, Gibbs."

"I promise I'll tell you all that I can." Gibbs vowed, standing and motioning with one hand for her to lead the way.

In their ears, they heard DiNozzo's voice report in. "Nothing weird so far, boss. All clear."

Gibbs didn't reply until they were stepping into the elevator. "Keep an eye open, Tony. My gut's twitchy."

"Mine, too, but that could have been Ducky's Yorkshire pudding at desert."

"Ziva, smack him for me." Gibbs ordered, followed by a distinctive, "Ow! Not so hard!" from Tony.

John swallowed back the urge to laugh and checked in with his team, too. "Sit-rep, kids?" He smiled at Leyla, who was watching and listening to the one-sided conversation curiously. "We've found the ladies and they're fine."

"All is…quiet." Teyla answered first, though the slight pause had John perking up.

"Teyla?"

"It is nothing, John. Just some foolish young boys who have since seen the error of their ways." Her tone was that very disapproving one she typically aimed at John and Rodney. He shook his head, wondering what, exactly, had happened but deciding it was better not to ask.

"Okay then. Ronon?"

"Good. Except for the stench."

"What?" John wondered, trying really hard not to laugh when Ronon answered.

"I'm using a large metal container as cover and it reeks like Zelenka's still."

"Oh my god! Remind me never to drink any of his home-brew ever again!" Rodney's voice responded to that emphatically in disgust. "It's a trash dumpster, Ronon, that's why it smells."

"Ah. Then why does Zelenka's moonshine smell like this?"

"I really don't want to know. Gah! That's so gross."

"Stay frosty, everyone." John ordered, not bothering to conceal his amusement. "And we'll need our rides in…oh…ten minutes?" He glanced at Gibbs, who nodded in agreement. "Everyone copy?"

"Yes, yes." McKay's tone was impatient, but agreeable.

McGee was a little more by the book. "Copy that, Colonel."

Teyla, Ronon, Tony, and Ziva all gave their own acknowledgements as Leyla led them down the hall to her room.

Once inside, John parked himself near the door while Gibbs kept Amira entertained so her mother could quickly pack up all their things. It didn't take long, as there wasn't much to pack. They'd left in a hurry, after all, and likely without any baggage since their belongings probably blew up with their home. John could see that what they had was all brand new.

Now that he thought about it, where were they going to go? And where could the SGC stash them safely and without breaking any of the necessary secrecy? Frowning to himself, he reached for his ear to talk to Rodney again.

"McKay, contact Mitchell and Dr. Jackson, and see what sort of exit strategy and safe house we might have for the ladies."

"Okay. Any suggestions you want to make?"

"Not off the top of my head, but explain the situation and see what they can come up with."

"Alright. McKay out."

"A safe house?" Leyla stopped stuffing clothes in a bag, looking at Gibbs uncertainly. "Gibbs?"

"Not like you're thinking, Leyla. It's fine." The older man assured, giving Sheppard a meaningful stare. John nodded, affirming the promise.

"I just…I assumed we would be going to your home in Washington." Leyla resumed packing, but kept shooting worried glances at both men. "Mike always says it's the safest place to be."

"Unfortunately, I can't guarantee Mike's opinion of that this time." Gibbs looked rather annoyed by it, too.

"Ma'am, you needn't worry that you've inadvertently gotten involved in anything." John said after a moment, hoping to alleviate some of her fears. "We just want to protect you. Our concerns for your safety stem from…the possibility of being used as a hostage or something like that – not because the bad guys are interested in you for other things."

Leyla stood with the bags, staring at him in such a knowing, older and wiser than her age way that John had the sudden insight that this woman had known the kinds of trouble and tragedy no one should ever have to. He wondered just what, exactly, her story was, but resolved to ponder it later. At the moment she was studying him consideringly, trying to judge whether or not to believe in him and trust him.

"Very well. We should leave quickly, yes?"

John felt some of the tension drain away and straightened up. "Yep. Let's go."

Downstairs in the lobby they were met by Tony and Ziva. "Go with them, Leyla." Gibbs said, handing Amira off to her mother. "I'll check you out and be right there."

Tony took the bags and headed for the doors, Ziva escorting Leyla and Amira, while John brought up the rear. He listened over the comms as Gibbs dealt with the receptionist again, asking a couple of questions he hadn't had the chance to earlier, then hurrying out to join them at the SUVs.

Ziva and McGee helped Leyla and Amira get settled in their seats, while John, McKay, and Gibbs conferred outside. Teyla and Ronon were already seated in their vehicle, waiting.

"What did Mitchell and Daniel say, McKay?" John asked.

"Colonel Mitchell said we have two options – get on a plane and _fly_ to either the Springs or Vegas and be met by an SGC escort, or _drive_ to either Peterson or Nellis. Either way he said that getting to an AF base would be best because, well, let's face it; you flyboys have more pull there than on other bases of other military branches." Rodney sighed, making a face. "Not to mention that, really, Nellis is closer and a better bet. _I_ have more pull in Nevada, let alone any of you."

John ran a hand through his hair, thinking about it from all angles. "I'd feel better about the Springs. It's the next best place, short of the Mountain itself, and our people are all over the place, there."

Rodney looked pained. "That's a _really_ long drive, John. Really long. And in case you've forgotten when we last slept…" It was almost a whine, but John couldn't blame him for it.

"I'm tired, too, Rodney, and we can switch off on the driving." John pointed out. "I know it's frustrating, but…"

"Why don't we just fly?" Gibbs asked, then raised a hand, answering his own question. "Never mind. Whoever's got Mike – and so quickly – can find us easily if we leave a paper trail. I'm tired, too. And I could really use a cup of coffee." It had been a few hours since his last mug.

"What do you want to do, Gibbs?" John asked quietly, aware that they were being watched by Leyla closely.

"I just need to talk to her before we take her somewhere safe while we handle the rest of this…mess." Gibbs responded, frustration and weariness evident, as well as temper. "I need to ask her a few questions, too, try to put together exactly what happened to Mike from the time I saw him off at the airport until he called me."

"Well…let's hit the road, then." John shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "We'll drive for a couple hours then find someplace for a pit stop."

Then Rodney did that snappy-finger-fist thing he does whenever a light bulb goes off in that big brain of his. "Wait, wait, wait! You can talk to her in the car on the way, right?" He asked of Gibbs, who frowned a little but nodded. It wasn't how he preferred doing it, but it would have to do. McGee could drive. "So you talk, we drive for a couple hours, and wherever we stop we can have Mitchell beam someone else to escort them the rest of the way to the Springs while the rest of us go back to D.C. and regroup in the morning."

John stared for a minute, torn between smacking himself for not thinking of it himself, and kissing Rodney for being the genius he is. Refraining from either of those, however, he settled for clapping the scientist on the back proudly and saying, "That works for me. Gibbs?"

"If you can guarantee that she'll be safe with whoever comes to meet us…" Gibbs was beginning to really dislike how many unknown people he was being asked to trust with the lives of people he cared about – particularly these two people. If something happened to them, Mike would kill him, and Gibbs would let him.

"Gibbs, you know I can't guarantee that. Nobody could. Shit happens that's no one's fault, sometimes." John shook his head at the older man's darkening scowl and cut off the oncoming protest. "What I can guarantee is that whoever gets the job will protect those ladies with their lives, if they have to, and will do everything possible to see them safely to their destination."

It was Rodney's quiet words that finally swayed Gibbs vote.

"Only those who are deemed to be the very best of us are part of the programme, Agent Gibbs. Not just at what they do bust as _people_, too. Civilian or military. And they'll have _Odyssey_ keeping an eye on them, too, so they'll be as safe as can be."

John blinked at his friend in surprise, since it wasn't a very Rodney-like endorsement concerning other people, but kept his mouth shut against the smart-assed comments he wanted to say.

"Alright. I guess I don't have much choice. Let's go."

Gibbs gave in, heading for the passenger's seat.

John slid into their SUV, glancing at Rodney as he started the engine. "A three hour drive should do it, you think?"

"Yeah. Let's put lots of space between us and Phoenix." Rodney agreed, looking around the parking lot nervously. "I don't like how fast the Trust found this Franks guy."

"Me neither." John echoed the sentiment, frowning as he pulled out into traffic, noting that the NCIS team was following closely. "Radio Mitchell, tell him the plan."

Rodney reached for his ear.

In the other SUV, McGee was battling his own set of nerves, having very rarely been the one behind the wheel on any investigations – especially with Gibbs present. So when Gibbs informed him he was driving and to follow Sheppard, he had to stop and take a deep breath before settling in with determination to prove he could do this simple task…

…with both Ziva and Tony protesting loudly about it – Tony, because he preferred driving whenever Gibbs wasn't and because he felt that McGee drove like a Granny while Ziva…should never be allowed behind a wheel for the safety of _everyone_, and Ziva because she as confident in her evasion skills as a driver and felt McGee lacked the skills to deal with a situation that would require such evasion.

Gibbs told them both to shut up and either go to sleep or listen in while he talked to Leyla because he would leave them both on the side of the road if they didn't.

Instant peace and quiet was the response.

Sitting in the middle of the vehicle with Leyla and Amira, Gibbs very quietly and calmly explained what Mike had gone to L.A. for, what had happened, and the very bare bones of why people were after him now. He also broke the news that it appeared Mike had been found and captured. Gibbs explained that they were concerned for Leyla and Amira's safety, too, because they feared the bad guys would try to use Mike's family to get him to cooperate.

Leyla listened attentively but silently. She hugged her daughter to her side, unconsciously protective, and her breath caught at some points, but she still managed to keep herself collected. Despite being very worried and afraid, she did not break out into hysterics as many people would at hearing such news – no doubt due to where she'd grown up, Gibbs realized quite quickly. The young woman was born and raised in the Middle East, a volatile region of the world. He had to admire her strength, much as he did Ziva's, if not for the exact same reasons.

"And you have a…lead?" Leyla asked after Gibbs fell silent, not sure if she was using the correct term. "you know where Mike is?"

"Not yet, no." Gibbs hesitated only a second before deciding the truth was the only way to go with her. "But we will, and we _will_ find him and bring him home, Leyla. I promise." He squeezed her hand, and she gave him a weary, sad smile that said she knew better than to expect perfectly happy endings, and that she understood everything he wasn't saying.

Still, she replied, "I know you will. Thank you, Gibbs, for once again protecting my family."

"Boss?" McGee interrupted apologetically. "Col. Sheppard is asking for you."

Gibbs nodded and reached for his ear to tune back in to the frequency they'd been using. He'd turned off the comm to speak to Leyla, so as not to be distracted. "Sheppard, this is Gibbs. You need something?"

"Rodney is making noises about coffee and Ronon's got the munchies, so I thought I'd check in with your car and see if we need a pit stop." The Colonel's reply came quickly. "We're about a little less than an hour out of Phoenix now, and headed for Flagstaff."

Gibbs blinked (not realizing how much time had passed) and rolled his eyes at the "munchies" bit, but whole-heartedly agreed that coffee would be _fabulous_ right then. "Yeah, sure. Coffee would be good."

"Alright. There's a service area coming up in a couple of miles. We'll go there."

"Copy that, Colonel." McGee responded for Gibbs.

"Did you and Amira get something to eat, earlier?" Gibbs asked, glancing down at his goddaughter (who had fallen asleep cuddled up to her mother's side).

"Yes, thank you. But some water would be welcome. And coffee, also." Leyla smiled.

"We stoppin', boss?" Tony inquired from the back seat.

"Yes, DiNozzo."

"Excellent."

* * *

Once they were back on the road, Gibbs waited until Amira was asleep again before questioning her mother about what had happened in Mexico. Unfortunately, she didn't know much, as she wasn't present when the explosion had occurred.

Leyla told Gibbs that Mike had come home tired and upset, but relieved to be home again. She hadn't asked about any of it, knowing it was likely something he _couldn't_ talk about even if he'd wanted to.

Mike had taken the rest of the day to rest and play with Amira, and in the morning they'd went to town together to go to the marketplace to shop for groceries and things. Leyla told Gibbs that around noon, when they'd decided to have lunch before going home, she'd noticed Mike became tense and alert, even wary. When she'd asked what was wrong, he'd told her it was nothing and not to worry. She'd accepted that, even if she didn't believe him. She'd kept her eyes open, trying to figure out what was putting her father-in-law on edge, but could not seem to spot the danger.

Leyla related how she'd spotted several strangers around town that day in the marketplace, and that though this wasn't unusual on a market day, these strangers did stick out rather obviously. They were white men (and possibly two women), dressed well – but not like tourists. When she'd pointed them out to Mike at lunch, he'd given in and confided that it seemed like they were being followed. When she asked him why, he'd said it had nothing to do with her or Amira, and that they should remain in town for a while longer while he sought some answers. Mike had left them at his favourite cantina, and went to get those answers for himself.

Not ten, maybe fifteen, minutes later, Leyla continued, they'd heard an explosion. She had no idea what happened, nor did anyone else. It had drawn the townspeople toward it, though, and she'd been worried about Mike, but resolved to stay put until he either came back for them or contacted her somehow. Thankfully, she hadn't waited long. Twenty minutes after the explosion, Mike returned to the cantina and took them out of town. From there, after telling her that the explosion had been their home and people were after him, he got them to the airport and they'd flown to Phoenix – this being the first available flight back to the States that he could get.

Beyond all this, Leyla knew nothing else. She hadn't asked questions, knowing it was probably safer for all of them, and because she knew Mike likely wouldn't tell her anything.

"He did tell me to call you if something should happen to him, however." Leyla informed Gibbs quietly, stroking her daughter's curly hair. "He was already late when you found us. I was going to wait another hour or so, and if he did not return, then I would call you."

Gibbs absorbed it all, thinking it through carefully, trying to piece together the puzzle. Unfortunately there was a large piece missing, from the time between leaving Leyla and Amira at the cantina and coming back to pick them up. Until they got Mike back, there was likely not going to be a way to fill in the hole.

Which led Gibbs to wonder _how_, exactly, they _were_ going to find Mike. Sure, they'd recovered his wallet from the scene, there'd been tire tracks and other evidence – but none of it pointed in any direction that said "Mike is here" for them to follow. Especially as they hadn't had the chance to work the scene properly.

Glancing ahead, out the front windshield, as if he could see the other SUV in the dark, the NCIS agent wondered if Sheppard and his people knew things that he did not, or had some fancy alien gadget that would let them track Mike down. It was a discussion they would have to have sooner rather than later.


	8. Chapter 8

_Disclaimer:_ The author does not own any of NCIS or Stargate, only borrows them for the sake of this fanfiction. No profit is made by the writing of this story.

_Warnings:_ Anything one expects to see on Stargate or NCIS, expect it here; also, slash in the form of Jack/Daniel, and John/Rodney; het pairings include Tony/Ziva, Gibbs/Jenny.

_If you dislike such things, or are underage, do not read!_

* * *

_Big thanks and kudos to Emergency70 for the beta!_

**Chapter VIII**

Reaching their destination in Flagstaff, at the coordinates _Odyssey_ had provided McKay, they found two people waiting for them. One was Daniel, who smiled and waved at the group as everyone poured out of the SUVs. The other was introduced as their escort to Colorado Springs – or more specifically, the Cheyenne Mountain AF base that housed most of the SGC's personnel.

"You must be Leyla." Daniel greeted their guest, smiling a little at the sleeping toddler in Gibbs' arms. "And Amira. It is my pleasure to meet you." He said that last in perfect Arabic, and for a moment he went off in the same language with such effortlessness that it seemed like he'd been born speaking it. Gibbs could only follow about a fifth of whatever he said, but a glance at Ziva reassured him that he wasn't missing anything crucial.

What Daniel told Leyla was that she and her daughter would be safe and in good company with her escort, a man he knew and trusted whole-heartedly with his own life many times in the past. He added that his friend – and his wife – had graciously offered Leyla their home to her as a sanctuary until the mess was over with, so that she would not be completely alone. He also assured her that anything she or Amira needed would be provided without any cost to herself – it was the least they could do for her.

At that point, Daniel turned to Gibbs and relayed the same information. "Oh, and I suppose a proper introduction is in order. Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs, this is Lieutenant Colonel Lou Ferretti, USAF, retired."

Ferretti laughed and clapped Daniel on the shoulder fondly. "Thanks, Doc. I wondered if maybe I was going to remain nameless, there, for a moment." Lou held out a hand to Gibbs, who shook it. "Agent Gibbs. Don't worry about a thing. The General briefed me on everything, and Amy – my wife – and I will take excellent care of our guests for you."

"I'll hold you to that, Colonel." Gibbs replied. It was both a warning and a promise, and Ferretti seemed to get that, because he nodded solemnly.

"It's just 'Lou,' these days, sir." He turned to Leyla, who was taking her daughter from Gibbs carefully, and gestured to the car parked not too far away. "If you want to get the little one settled, ma'am? It's a long drive, and we should get started on it."

Leyla nodded, and Daniel took her over and opened the car door for her. Ziva went, too, carrying Leyla's bags to stow in the trunk.

Lou glanced over Sheppard, McKay, Teyla, and Ronon curiously. "Hey! So you're the ah…Pegasus expedition, huh? Nice to finally meet you." He shook hands with Sheppard, then McKay, continuing, "Well, you I know, Dr. McKay. You're rather infamous around the Mountain, after all."

McKay scowled at him, flushing a little. "You'd better be talking about my great scientific genius, Ferretti, or I'll sic Ronon on you." A frown replaced the scowl briefly. "What have you heard, anyway?"

"No you won't." Sheppard nudged him in the side. "And you'll have to tell us about this infamy of yours later."

McKay sputtered and Lou laughed.

"Nah. You're alright, Dr. McKay." Lou waved aside the story. "Anyway, better hit the road. And you all better get back to D.C. and get some rest." Lou offered a two-fingered salute and jogged over to his car. A brief word with Daniel and a one-armed hug on both sides, and then he was gone.

Daniel and Ziva rejoined them. "Well, that's a load off, at least." He shoved his hands in his pants' pockets, tilting his head as he regarded Gibbs seriously. "Lou is one of the people I trust most, Gibbs. Of those of us who went on the original mission through the Gate almost twelve years ago, only myself, Jack, and Lou are left. He knows the score _exactly_ – and he's the best person we have that can handle what could come his way from this."

Gibbs sighed and ran a hand through his hair agitatedly. "It's not like I can refute that or protest, Dr. Jackson. At this point I have no other options but to trust you and your people. I can accept that – but I don't have t like it."

Daniel smiled, chuckling a little. "You and Jack are a lot alike. I think you'd get along quite well, under normal circumstances."

"But what's normal for you people anyway?" Tony wondered, with a hint of sarcasm. "I mean, you go to other planets, fly around in spaceships, and battle _aliens_ for gods' sake."

Daniel shrugged and smirked.

"Is Mitchell waiting?" John asked.

"Yes." Daniel sobered and reached for his ear. "You've all got your things from the cars?" At everyone's nod, he called his teammate for transport.

* * *

Gibbs was certain he would never get used to the strange sense of disconnection he experienced every time he was…beamed somewhere; he was, in fact, grateful this was a temporary thing and not going to be a regular occurrence – even if it was kind of handy.

Colonel Mitchell had put them all back in Gibbs' house – NCIS, that is. Sheppard and his people (all of whom were bunking down at O'Neill's rather than just using it as a base, as Gibbs had thought) were going to be put back at the General's after checking in with…whoever and…whatever else it was they did. Even being a Marine gave Gibbs no real hints as to what sort of protocols these Stargate folk probably had to deal with in their jobs and lives – and he had yet to even _see_ an alien.

He still didn't quite believe that part, either.

It was something of a relief to be home though, on his own territory. He hadn't allowed himself to show how truly unnerved and out of place he'd felt the entire time – for the sake of his team, as much as his own sanity. At least he had the comfort of knowing Leyla and Amira were okay. Now he could put all his focus on finding Mike, and ending this nightmare.

"Come, McGee." Ziva tugged the young an toward the kitchen. "We shall finish cleaning up before we leave, yes?"

"Ah, yeah. Let's do that." McGee nodded, stopping to collect empty beer bottles, cans, and cups along the way.

Tony, not one to consider being domestic at the best of times, eyed them for just a moment before taking on the lesser of evils and sinking down onto the couch beside his mentor and friend.

"What do you think, boss?" He asked quietly, no hint of his usual humour or smart-ass self in his tone.

For once, Gibbs didn't really know how to respond. He shook his head tiredly, trying to clear it, but nothing became any less confusing. "I don't know, Tony. This time…I just don't know."

Tony didn't look all that reassured by his answer, but there was nothing Gibbs could do about that. There was a moment of silence, where only the sounds of McGee and Ziva cleaning in the kitchen were present.

"Well, hopefully we'll figure out a starting point tomorrow morning when we meet up with Sheppard and friends." The younger agent sighed. "They all seemed relatively certain Mike was still alive somewhere. Though how they figure that, I don't know."

Gibbs snorted. "I think there's a lot they haven't bothered to tell us. Despite all the noises and gestures they've made about cooperation and 'needing our help' I get the feeling they still don't trust us fully. We're an inconvenience to them, DiNozzo." Not that he believed them, but it irked. He wasn't used to being considered untrustworthy – especially when _he_ had already shown an awful lot of trust in _them_.

"Is it me or is the whole situation just a little too surreal?" Tony leaned back against the cushions and closed his eyes. "I mean, come on…aliens? Travelling to other planets? Spaceships? It's a bad science fiction show." He sat up immediately after that comment, blinking in shock. "It _is_ a bad TV show! What was it called…_Wormhole_-something…"

"_Wormhole Extreme_, Tony." McGee informed him helpfully as he walked into the room. "Even I knew that, and I don't own a TV."

"Whatever, Mr. McSmarty-pants." Tony dismissed the young man with a wave of his hand. "But yeah! That stupid series only lasted a few episodes before it died. Then a couple years later it came back as a movie!"

"Tony, I couldn't care less if I tried." Gibbs gave him a medium version of his 'shut up, DiNozzo' glare.

"Well, I know, boss, but I just wondered – now – if maybe Sheppard's people had anything to do with it. You know…a cover story of some kind?"

"DiNozzo, shut up." The glare went up a level to go with the vocalization. "Abby is enough. Don't you dare start in on the conspiracy theories, too."

"And for all our sakes, Tony, don't even mention such an idea to Abby!" McGee pled. "She's already going to be crazy about this as it is."

Tony sighed. "Right."

"Boss, did you want to keep any of the leftovers? That's what I'd come out to ask, originally." Tim looked sheepish and scratched at his cheek.

"No. You three can split it up amongst yourselves." Gibbs shook his head. He pointed at Tony, then at the kitchen. "Go, Tony. You three need to get home and sleep."

"Yeah, boss." Tony agreed, stifling the yawn that came up with his hand. Just before he stepped into the kitchen, he paused and turned to look at his mentor. "What are you going to tell Vance, boss?"

Gibbs grimaced and shook his head. Tony nodded, understanding the unspoken message, and left him to his thoughts.

Gibbs waited five minutes after his people left to pick up his phone and call Ducky. The older man picked up after only two rings, and thankfully sounded awake and alert.

"Jethro! I do hope you're calling with good news."

"Yes, and no, Duck. Sorry to call so late."

"Oh no, don't worry about that, my friend. Mother just went back to bed after one of her late night 'walks.'" Ducky replied, exasperated and tired, but with a patience Gibbs often envied the man for. "Abby and I were just finishing a nice mug of hot cocoa."

"Abby's with you?" Gibbs figured he should have known. "Tell her we're all fine and back home, so she'll stop worrying."

"Certainly, Jethro. Well, then...what have you to report?" Ducky asked, getting down to business. "Did you find Mike?"

"No. That's the bad news. It appears there was an altercation, and that he was taken away. Sheppard seems to think he's still alive though." Gibbs explained all they'd found, what McKay said about weapons fire, and how it all led them to the hotel where they found Leyla and Amira. "The girls are on their way to...a very safe place, Ducky. Other than that, we're meeting up at the General's house at 0930 tomorrow."

"I see. And there were no other leads?" Ducky asked, disappointed in the lack thereof. "Perhaps if you worked the scene..."

"Maybe. I was going to bring that up tomorrow. I'm not sure what else to do, in all honesty, Duck. This is...so beyond anything I've ever had to investigate before." He really hated admitting that, but Ducky was one of the few people with whom he could ever be openly honest about his personal misgivings.

Ducky clucked at him reassuringly. "Now, Jethro, I know you too well to believe you can't figure this out somehow. You always find a way, and this shall be no different."

"For Mike's sake, I really hope you're right."

"Did you still want me to speak with Vance in the morning?"

Gibbs sighed. "No, that's fine, Ducky. I'll come in first thing and...figure out what the hell to tell him." He grimaced. "For now, I think it's best if you and Abby stay out of it – at least until we need you for something. Just go on about your business, and I promise to keep you both informed."

"Very well. You will call on us if you need us though?"

"In a heartbeat, Duck."

"Well, then, we should all go to bed. Sleep will help you think better." Ducky said, winding up the call in his best no-nonsense tone. "Good night, Jethro."

"Good night, Ducky."

* * *

Exhausted in pretty much every way, John trudged up the stairs after Rodney, Teyla, and Ronon. They'd just finished debriefing with General O'Neill, who was busy waking up Very Important People in order to secure Gibbs and company's temporary assignment to the mission – which would necessitate some fancy footwork with SecNav and Director Vance without telling them why or what they'd be doing, exactly. Daniel was checking in with Ferretti.

"Rest well." Teyla wished them as she and Ronon went into their room. "Good night, John, Rodney."

"You, too." John returned, giving a small smile. Ronon just grunted in response, and Rodney gave them a little wave and a huge yawn as he turned away. "Good night."

Closing the door behind them, John released a huge sigh and leaned against it in exhausted relief. Rodney was already changing into his sleepwear, and paused to study his friend critically in concern.

"You look like crap." He declared bluntly, but sympathetically. "Go to bed, John, before you fall over."

"Gee thanks, Rodney." John drawled sarcastically. He was too wiped to really put any effort into a snappy comeback, however, and just did as he was told. Changing quickly, he crawled under the covers and closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of McKay in the bathroom and then moving around the bedroom as he got himself ready for bed. It was oddly comforting and had a lulling effect on John, so that by the time he dropped down next to John on the bed, the exhausted man had nearly fallen asleep. The light went out and McKay settled in with a deep sigh.

"Good night, John." Rodney said lowly, muffled slightly by his pillow.

"Night, Rodney." John responded. He thought for a moment, then said, "Rodney?"

"Hmm?"

"Did Jenny die for nothing?"

For a long moment there was no response, then Rodney was sitting up and turning the lamp back on. "Sit up, John." He waited until John obeyed, continuing, "Define 'nothing', please."

Frowning, John gave him a look. "You know what I mean, Rodney. Did she go through all the trouble of tracking down those documents and get shot to death because she was trying to protect herself? Or someone else? Some_thing_ else? Did she know about the Stargate programme and was doing what she could from outside it?"

"Okay, first off, you're over-thinking this." Rodney cut him off at the rush of questioning. John closed up, tight-lipped, and listened. "She was a federal agent, John – the Director of a military law enforcement agency. Regardless of how much she knew, it was her job to deal with bad guys out to steal the government's secrets, and she seemed to have been pretty good at it from what I've gleaned. If you want my opinion," like John had a choice, "then no, I don't think she died for nothing. It isn't her fault that other things were going on that she had no knowledge of, or that the course of her job would end up taking her life. That's a hazard she knew and accepted when she started down that career path, not unlike yourself as a soldier." Rodney reasoned it out carefully for him, trying not to sound as if he thought John's concerns were stupid. He understood why John was so hung up on Jenny's death in this way, different than how he reacted when they lost someone on Atlantis like Elizabeth or Carson. Jenny likely hadn't known a thing about the programme, and it made all the difference to John because of it.

"I suppose, but..." John began, frowning even more deeply. Rodney sighed.

"Look, you're grieving! You're trying to make sense of a senseless situation, and sometimes that just isn't possible. It's natural to want a sudden death to have occurred for some really good reason – doing something noble and brave and heroic, for example. All the times I thought _you_ had died, I at least had that comfort, in knowing you died doing something crazy, stupid, and heroic to save the rest of us – no matter how mad at you I was for doing it, or how much it hurt." Rodney looked away and glared at the ceiling, feeling the heat crawl up his neck into his face at the surprised expression on John's face at his words. "But you're a soldier and you expect to die that way, especially when we live in a place that holds a thousand different ways to kill us every single day! You're having a hard time with losing Jenny because she _wasn't_, and she still died, and you want it to make sense."

John was silent for a long, long time, staring at his friend in shock, amusement, and speculation. When he finally spoke again, it was with a wry tone and a half-smile of fond affection.

"So...you really are the smartest man in two galaxies." Was all he said with a shake of his head.

"Of course I am." Rodney snorted, then flushed darker when John chuckled. "Okay, I know I'm mostly socially stunted at the best of times, but I still _get_ it, you know, up here." He tapped a finger against his temple. "I just don't know how to, you know, say it sometimes."

"I know that, Rodney, but you're not socially stunted. You just...don't play the silly games most people play every day. It's just part of your personality. You're honest and genuine, and I wouldn't change you for anything." It was just the truth as John saw it, though he would admit that it took a while for him to finally figure that out about the brash scientist. John stared at his knees, admitting almost absently, "I like you when you're ripping someone a new one for being stupid and existing in your universe. It's so damned fun to watch."

Rodney stared at him, eyes widening in surprise. Then a small smile twitched at the corners of his mouth and he started to laugh.

"What does that say about us, I wonder?" He mused, grinning.

John chuckled, too, but not as gleefully as his friend. "I don't know but it works for us, so why worry."

"Excellent point." Rare praise, coming from McKay. "Can we go to bed now?" He tried not to sound whiny about it.

"Yeah." John agreed, lying back down. The room went dark again, Rodney moved around until he was comfortable, and there was silence. This time they both fell asleep easily.

And Rodney was so not telling John how cuddly he got at some point during the night and woke Rodney briefly. He was, after all, the smartest man in two galaxies.

* * *

NCIS Headquarters  
Tuesday  
0640 hours

Gibbs stepped off the elevator, coffee cup from his favourite dealer of all things java in one hand, and headed for his desk. If he was surprised to see DiNozzo asleep at his own desk, no one could have known from Gibbs' demeanour. Then again, it wasn't unusual for the MCRT Agents to be found sleeping on or around their desks after an all-nighter on one of their cases.

Shaking his head, Gibbs set his cup down and opened his desk drawer after shedding his overcoat, placing his badge and gun inside to lock them up, just as he always did, before going over to stand in front of Tony's desk.

"DiNozzo!" He barked – through not as sharply or loudly as was typical. Tony sat up in his chair immediately blinking slowly and blearily in confusion, still half-asleep.

"Yes, boss! Right away, boss!" Tony replied automatically, looking around with a scowl and pair of sleep-reddened eyes that told Gibbs just how little rest his agent had been getting lately. The bed-head of hair was cute, though. "Uh…what did you say?"

Gibbs thought about smacking him upside the head, but decided it wasn't going to register when Tony's brain wasn't firing on all cylinders just yet. "Tony, what are you doing here? I thought I told you to go home and get some rest."

"I did, boss." Tony rubbed at his eyes and face, trying to wake up more. "But I couldn't sleep so I figured I might as well come in and…" he yawned widely, "…sorry, be productive."

"Only now you'll be asleep on your feet and _un_productive the rest of the day." Gibbs shook his head and sighed at the guilty, frustrated look his words produced on Tony's face. "Well it's done. So were you productive, DiNozzo?"

"I worked very hard for no reward, boss." Tony pushed himself to his feet and began digging out the change of clothes and toiletries he kept on hand for just such occasions. "I didn't feel right not doing all I could think of to try and find a lead on Mike's whereabouts, but everything I tried came up empty. The last thing I could think of that _might_ pull up a lead was to send out a missing persons APB. Maybe someone will see him – or maybe someone saw him around Phoenix before he was taken." He closed the filing cabinet drawer a little harder than intended. "A long-shot, but I had to do _something_, boss."

"The APB is a big risk you're taking with Mike's life, DiNozzo." Gibbs stated, his tone carefully neutral. He didn't like it, but he couldn't say he wouldn't have done the same thing if he wasn't as close to Mike as he was. Tony liked and respected Mike, considered him a part of the 'family' at NCIS as one of their own even though he was retired now, but he didn't have the personal connections Gibbs had to the former agent.

"Yes, it is." Tony stopped what he was doing to meet Gibbs gaze steadily, without fear, and explained himself calmly. "A calculated one. Sure, there's the possibility that the bad guys will decide he's too much trouble and kill him because of it, but I figure they need him too badly so they'll keep him alive. I also think it'll make it harder for them to move him if they have to worry about being seen – and I'm all about making life difficult for bad guys." He flashed a grin (all teeth) then made a frustrated sound and kicked at his desk with a snort. "Besides, there isn't much else I can do at this point."

"We _will_ find him, Tony." Gibbs stated softly, touched that Tony cared this much (not even about Mike, but about _Gibbs_), and proud of the agent that Tony was becoming. He also felt a little bit guilty that Tony was the frustrated one when, really, it should have been Gibbs feeling that way. It was odd, but he was and he wasn't frustrated. For some reason, his gut wasn't telling him bad things – at least not yet. Or…maybe he was in denial about the kind of trouble Mike was in – in which case he really did need Tony to be able to step up and make hard decisions.

"Of course we will, boss." Tony agreed, his tone only wavering a little bit from certainty.

Gibbs looked up at MTAC and the arcade that led to the Director's office. Giving himself a mental shake, Gibbs went back to his desk to grab his coffee before moving purposefully to the stairs.

"Go home, Tony." He suggested as he passed by. "Have a shower, have breakfast, take a nap. I'll call when we have a plan and something to act on."

"What? But boss!" Tony protested, eyes widening and face falling at the dismissal.

"DiNozzo! Stop arguing and go. You're useless dead on your feet! You worked hard all night, now shut up and do what I said." Gibbs didn't even pause on his way up the stairs to give Tony a verbal smack-down only a Marine was capable of. He heard his agent grumbling to himself but knew this time he would be obeyed.

Putting Tony from his mind, Gibbs walked right in past Cynthia at her desk and went for the Director's door. For once, Cynthia didn't even try to put up a fight, as she normally would when he just barged right in unannounced or uninvited. The assistant just smiled faintly and murmured, "Good morning, Agent Gibbs."

"Good morning, Cynthia." He returned as he twisted the door handle and pushed his way inside.

Vance looked up from the open files on his desk at the intrusion and scowled briefly. "You do realize I'm your boss, right?" He gave Gibbs a hard stare as the older man simply shrugged and fell into a stance that was almost parade rest in front of the desk. "I wondered if you'd be gracing my office this morning. In fact, I half expected to be getting a phone call from you telling me that you and your team wouldn't be in for duty for some unspecified time." Vance leaned back in his chair and eyed Gibbs calculatingly. Gibbs just stared back impassively, not intimidated at all by Leon Vance or his tactics. A battle of wills fought in steely silence lasted for a few moments more before Vance rolled his eyes and gestured at one of the guest chairs. "Oh for god's sake sit down, Gibbs. I'm not your enemy, no matter how any of you might feel about me taking this position." He waved his hand around the office.

"It's been difficult to tell, _Leon_, the way you've thrown your weight around the last week." Gibbs replied dryly, but no less bitingly. Vance had the grace to give in on that point, however, and shrugged much as Gibbs had.

"I'll apologize for that. No excuse, but the reason for it has been the considerable pressure SecNav's been loading on my head since this mess started. Saying the man's unhappy with the situation is an understatement." Vance started closing files and clearing a space on the desk in front of himself. "He's furious. Ms. Sheppard's leadership here is being called into question by other agency Directors, as well as other important high-level government officials. The things she's done, recently and in the past, have come back to haunt SecNav, and Davenport finds himself very shamefaced among his peers."

"And of course he takes out his bad temper on you, and you take it out on us." Gibbs drawled unsympathetically. "Trickle-down ass reaming. Fine. As you said, it's not an excuse, though I can sympathize. A little." Gibbs stuffed his hands into the pockets of his blazer, staring at Vance as he contemplated the object he palmed in one hand. "Just so we both understand where we're coming from."

"Yeah." Vance agreed warily, frowning at the borderline insult in Gibbs neutral tone. "So why do you look like you're thinking really hard about something I probably don't want to know?"

"I'm trying to decide if I trust you with Jenny's reputation. Because if I can't, then never mind." Gibbs waved away Vance's obvious concerns when he frowned and narrowed his eyes at Gibbs. "Don't worry, it doesn't affect the case or anything."

"If you're withholding any information on this, Agent Gibbs…" Vance warned.

"I'm not. It's just supposition I have, and even if I'm right, it isn't likely to have changed the outcome anyway. I know Jen. She'd have done what she did anyway." Gibbs fingered the object in his pocket, still trying to assess Vance's position.

"Well _of course_ I'm curious now. If it'll help, I have no interest in ruining the reputation of a dead woman who, when all is said and done, died for her country."

Gibbs narrowed his gaze. "Off the record then?"

"Between you and I, Gibbs." Vance agreed.

"And Ducky. He knows, too, though I haven't had a chance to ask him about my theory." Vance gave him a half-intrigued, half-impatient look. "Okay." Gibbs pulled out a pill bottle and set it on Vance's desktop.

"What's this?" The Director picked it up and read the label, a dark eyebrow raising at what he saw. "Prescription meds for…?"

Gibbs stared at the little bottle of pills he'd found in the box of Jenny's things Cynthia had cleared out of the office before Vance moved in. "A few weeks ago, after I smelled a rat and cornered Ducky, I found out Jen had a very serious medical…problem. She'd only just found out herself, after she'd had Ducky check her out when she began to suspect something was wrong. Only Ducky and myself – and her doctors – knew she was ill, Leon."

Vance slowly set the pills down and folded his hands, carefully. "How ill? What was wrong? I don't recognize the prescription."

"She was dying. Brain cancer." Gibbs told him in a clipped voice. "Jenny had an inoperable tumour in her brain that had already grown beyond any other possible treatments. Even those," he nodded at the pills, "were an experimental new drug."

"Jesus." Vance looked shocked, and angry, and even sad. "When did she tell you?"

"She didn't, Leon. She didn't tell anyone but Ducky, and only then because she trusted him to figure out the problem discreetly." It was still a bitter taste she'd left him with. By now, however, he'd begun to accept that when it came to Jenny Sheppard, he was going to live the rest of his life with a whole lot of regrets. "Maybe she'd have told me eventually, I don't know. The point is that she was sick – a disease that could have caused impaired judgement. Not to mention experimental drugs as a treatment that may have had unforeseen side-effects on her." Gibbs laid out his theory. "All that _plus_ her emotional state after finding out how ill she was, that she was dying…"

"Okay, I get it." Vance sighed and shook his head. "So she probably hadn't reported her condition to SecNav, either." He stood and walked around his desk to go to the wet bar and pour himself a drink. On duty or not, he figured it was owed him for all this messed up bullshit he was in the unenviable position to deal with.

"No. Which means telling him will either make him very understanding or very pissed off." Gibbs predicted.

"Likely more pissed off. For now, I'll keep it to myself, though you should get Ducky's medical opinion, too, just in case." Vance swallowed his scotch and grabbed a bottle of water from the bar fridge.

Gibbs shrugged and waved off the offer of a bottle for himself. "I'll talk to him. So you were saying something about expecting a phone call from me?"

Vance snorted. "You know I'm not stupid, Gibbs. You gave me the run-around yesterday about Sheppard and his people. If I didn't already have suspicions, then I damn well did when SecNav himself woke me up after midnight last night banging on my front door." He nodded at Gibbs raised eyebrow. "He invited me on a late-night stroll, during which he informed me that you and your team would be assisting on a very hush-hush mission even _he_ wasn't cleared to know about, and that if you called requesting leave I was to be gracious, and ignorant of why you wanted it, and if – 'while on vacation' – you made any requests of NCIS resources or personnel, then I was to remain gracious. Magnanimous, even." Vance gave Gibbs a part wry, part annoyed glare. Gibbs just stared back impassively.

"I see. Did he say anything else?"

"Only that his orders came down directly from the President. An _Executive Order_, Gibbs. As much as I'm curious to know what you've gone and gotten yourself into now, I just as much _don't_ want to know." Vance dropped back into his chair and frowned. "Just make sure you all come back alive."

"Well, we plan on it." Gibbs stood up. "Ducky and Abby know what's going on, too, though they couldn't tell you or anyone else what they know even if they wanted to. We'll stay in touch through them."

"My Medical Examiner and my lab tech, too?" Vance scowled deeply. "Fine, whatever. I'm gracious and ignorant, after all." A thought suddenly chased away the scowl. "I assume Ms. David has permission from her father for this – or do I have to play nice with Director David?"

Gibbs hesitated. "Permission, no. I doubt he has any idea, much like yourself. She does have sanctioning from her government, however."

"Ah. Well, if he calls to yell at me, I'm just as clueless as he is, then." Vance didn't appear too happy about it, but he _was_ very good at playing in the political and intelligence arenas. If he hadn't been, he wouldn't be in the office that he was. "Get out of my office, Agent Gibbs. I'll file the 'vacation' paperwork – unspecified timeframe." He shooed the older man away with a hand wave.

"Yes, sir, _Director_." Gibbs smirked, which ruined the absolutely sincere tone and the subtle way he'd straightened up to attention. He practically marched out the door, feeling pretty good about the whole meeting, all things considered.

At the bullpen once more, he stopped to pick up his badge and weapon from his desk before he decided to drop in on Abby and Ducky to let them know what Vance had said.

There was the typical loud, rhythmic, kind of strange music that was all Abby to greet him as he walked into her lab. She looked productive, standing at her computer console and typing away at a keyboard. And as the music wasn't depressing or dark, he assumed she was in a fairly good mood. He could always tell how she was feeling by the music she listened to as she worked.

"Good morning, Abby." He said, smiling as she whirled in surprise and pressed a hand to her heart.

"Gibbs! You really have to stop doing that! I'm going to have to put a bell on you or something." She scolded, though the relieved grin spoiled it. Then she leapt at him and hugged him hard. "I'm so glad you're okay! Ducky promised you were, but I had to see for myself, you know..."

Hugging her back and just holding her for a long moment, he pressed a kiss to her hair and chuckled, "I know, Abs. It's been a rough year. You're good though?"

She nodded into his chest, then reluctantly pulled away. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me, Gibbs! Besides, Ducky offered me a bed at his place if I wanted company until this was over." Abby flashed a tiny grin.

Gibbs nodded and lay a hand on her shoulder reassuringly. "You should take him up on it. He'd probably enjoy the company – someone who doesn't require special treatment." He referred to Ducky's mother, the...unique Mrs. Mallard, whose Alzheimer's was getting steadily worse day by day and made her even more eccentric than Gibbs suspected she'd always been when perfectly healthy.

"Yeah. I really feel for the Duck-man, Gibbs. He really loves her, but..."

"It's not easy, no. You should stay over a couple nights at least."

"I will." She gave him a serious look. "So any leads on Mike yet?"

"Not yet. I'm heading to General O'Neill's house after I talk to Ducky. Hopefully, they've found something." Gibbs looked at her computer screen. "What are you working on?"

A sheepish expression crossed her face. "Well, actually, I'm trying to find Mike. Um, Tony came by a little while ago and asked me to see if there were any security cameras in the area that I could get footage from. He said maybe we'd get lucky and spot a suspicious looking vehicle." She shrugged. "It could be a long-shot, since we really don't know what sort of vehicle to look for, but..." Abby held up a finger then clicked a few keys. "I'm running these pictures Ziva sent me of the tire tread marks she took at the scene. That could help me narrow it down."

Gibbs blinked, fighting the urge to tear up over how proud of his team he was, for how on-the-ball they were even now. He did however, lean in and give Abby another kiss on the cheek.

"Thank you. Good work, Abs."

She smiled, pleased, and understanding everything else that little phrase contained that Gibbs couldn't say. "I'll call when I have something so go! Check in with Ducky and go find Mike!"

"Yes, ma'am." Gibbs gave her a final, reassuring pat, then walked out. It was a short walk and an elevator ride to the morgue, and as the doors wooshed open he strode in to find his old friend cleaning instruments with the help of his assistant, the young and sometimes naive Jimmy Palmer.

"Spring cleaning, Ducky?" Gibbs asked, picking up the bone saw and inspecting the tool, currently missing its blade.

"Ah, Jethro, I hoped you'd drop in this morning – and no, just the usual cleaning. These are the spares we usually keep for emergencies. We're doing an inventory." Ducky waved a pair of forceps in the air. "Mr. Palmer, if you would be so kind, take these to the loading bay, and start on the van? I will join you shortly." He pointed at a large box of body bags.

"Of course, Doctor." Jimmy nodded, smiling cheerfully at both men. It may be that, on occasion, he wasn't the brightest bulb in the box but Gibbs kind of liked the kid. He was good at his job, quick to learn, and the perfect assistant to the eccentric old Medical Examiner – being more than a little odd himself. Gibbs supposed eccentricity came with the career.

Ducky walked away, moving to the sink to wash his hands. When Jimmy was safely gone, Ducky turned and said, "I assume you've been to Vance's office already?" while drying off his hands.

"Yep." Gibbs said, folding his arms over his chest. "Abby's lab, too."

"Ah. Good. I barely managed to convince her to go to bed last night for worrying about all of you." Ducky shook his head.

"Well, she's processing photos from Ziva of the scene, so maybe she'll be too busy to worry." Gibbs sighed, running fingers through his silvered hair. He absently noted that he needed a cut; it was getting long. "Better yet, she finds something for us to go on."

"Hmm, yes. That would be ideal. And did our esteemed new Director give you a difficult time?"

"Surprisingly, no. I guess SecNav dropped by late last night and basically told him to let us do what we had to and keep his nose out of it." Gibbs still found the whole idea amazing and amusing. "Neither of them, apparently, know a thing. O'Neill's got some pull with the shiniest brass, Duck, to be yanking on the chains of a federal, military agency like NCIS."

"I would imagine so, given the secrecy and importance of that programme. Just be glad he's letting us stay involved, Jethro. I get the impression that being on his bad side is an extremely bad idea." Ducky warned.

"I don't doubt it, Ducky." Gibbs sighed and stared across the room. "Listen, I have a question for you about Jen. A medical question."

"What is it? You know as much as I do about her condition at the time." The doctor studied his old friend quizzically.

"Do I? I'm not so sure. I have a thought." Gibbs repeated his theory to Ducky. "I want your medical opinion, Ducky, even though I realize you're not an Oncologist."

"I honestly couldn't say for certain, Jethro. I know it's not what you want to hear, but truthfully the brain is still such a mystery to us – the tumour very well _could_ have impacted her ability to make rational, reasonable decisions at times. As for her medication, as you said, it's highly experimental and as such the side-effects are largely unknown." Ducky shook his head apologetically. "There's no way to know for certain now."

"Okay, it's just that...her decision to hold a show down in that diner doesn't seem like what she'd normally have done. When she found out that Sasha Decker was dead, no matter if she thought I was going to rip her a new one or if she wanted to protect me – she would have called me. Even with Mike as back-up, she would have called me, Duck." It was this that stuck with him most. She was too good an agent to not have realized how dangerous the situation was getting, and to have not called for more help was unlike her.

"Ah, Jethro." Ducky lay a commiserating hand on the other man's forearm, patting in understanding sympathy. "Please don't toil over this any longer. It is simply something you can't ever know, now, and it does nothing for you to continue to try and figure it out. You'll only drive yourself crazy."

Gibbs closed his eyes, swallowing back the sharpness he knew would be in his tone. Ducky didn't deserve it. After a moment, he nodded slowly. "It's not easy letting go, Duck."

"No, it isn't. And it shouldn't be."

The agent straightened, smoothing out his jacket in a rare moment of self-consciousness. "Well, better get going. I'll keep in touch, Ducky."

"Yes, yes, Jethro – go find Mike and bring that old scoundrel home." Ducky shooed him away from the morgue. "And Jethro, please be careful."

"Always, Duck. Always."

* * *

General O'Neill's  
0800 hrs.

It was a rare day when Rodney was awake and up before John Sheppard – whose internal alarm operated with the precision of an atomic clock, much to McKay's disgust and amazement. This particular day was totally understandable, however, and Rodney promised himself he'd refrain from the teasing and gloating he would normally have inflicted on his friend (all good-naturedly, of course) when John did finally rouse.

A bleary, pre-coffee glare-squint at his watch informed him it was just after 0800, and he rubbed at his eyes and face awkwardly as he tried pushing himself up to roll out of the bed. It's a tad difficult to do when there's a heavy arm pinning one down to the mattress by the mid-section of one's back. Frowning, Rodney managed to get an arm under himself, giving him enough of a boost that when he turned his head he could see John lying sprawled out next to him on his stomach, face turned away.

As it registered just how cozy the situation was, Rodney hung his head and groaned mentally, savouring the weight of that arm now and wishing it had occurred in a much more conscious, willing situation. It was odd, but Rodney realized that John actually touched him quite a lot – outside of saving-his-life-type touches, that is. Casual patting, arm squeezes, friendly shoulder punches, an arm occasionally slung over his shoulders... Rodney blinked as he catalogued them all, wondering why he'd never realized it before when he normally knew every time someone touched him, because his entire life had been pretty lacking in the basic human contact department, so John getting under his radar so easily was startling. And telling. This time Rodney groaned aloud and with a shiver of disappointment, he forced himself to shimmy out from under John's arm and sit up on the edge of the bed.

Unfortunately, both woke up John and after an adorable little snuffle and a huge yawn, the officer rolled onto his back and scrubbed at his stubble covered face with both hands. "Rodney?"

"Wake up. It's after eight." Rodney informed him, his tone a bit sharp thanks to his embarrassment and annoyance at himself for his lack of control when it came to the other man. "You have time for a short run before breakfast, you masochist."

John blinked at him, then at his own wrist as he checked the time for himself. "Uh huh. Right." He sat up and watched his friend stomp around the room, gathering up clothes and his towel before heading for the bathroom. Frowning slightly, he asked, "You okay? You seem...out of sorts."

"Fine! I'm fine! Need coffee." Rodney hastily replied, not entirely untruthful. "Showering now!" He closed the bathroom door so he wouldn't have to face John and turned on the water.

Shrugging, John got out of bed and pulled on his running clothes before leaving the room to find Ronon for their morning jog.

Rodney emerged twenty minutes later, showered, shaved, dressed, and – much more alert – grabbed his laptop to take downstairs. Halfway down, he smelled coffee and followed his nose to the kitchen where he found Daniel polishing off a mug already and pouring himself another.

"Hey." Daniel greeted him, looking at about par with Rodney's state of wakefulness, but still in a pair of sleep pants and an old, faded USAF t-shirt. The linguist smothered a yawn with one hand and held up the coffee pot with the other in silent question. Rodney nodded quickly, and in short order had a steaming hot mug cradled in his hands.

The two worshipful, relived sighs of pleasure from the two java junkies echoed slightly in the silence. They looked at each other over the rims of their mugs and grinned foolishly.

"Wow, we've got it bad." Daniel chuckled.

"Whatever. Everyone has a vice. At least ours isn't illegal." Rodney snorted dismissively and took a big gulp of his coffee, heedless of its temperature. "Nectar of the gods."

"No argument here." Daniel wandered to the refrigerator, hunting for breakfast-making materials. "Waffles, pancakes, or French toast?"

"Whichever – as long as there's bacon."

A large package of Canadian back-bacon dropped in front of him on the countertop.

"Excellent." Rodney was certain he was drooling, but didn't really care.

"Did you and John sleep well? I saw him leaving with Ronon and Teyla for a run earlier." Daniel bustled around the kitchen, getting everything he needed out of the cupboards and fridge. If it was strange that he seemed to know his way around awfully well, Rodney didn't let on.

"I think so." Rodney hid the flush creeping up his neck behind his mug and hands, resting his elbows on the counter's edge. "He seemed better this morning."

"That's good. I know it's hard to sleep when there's so much going on, but he seemed to really need the rest last night. He looked exhausted."

"He was." Rodney watched Daniel whisk pancake batter in a bowl. "We all were, I think."

"Yeah." Daniel, of all people, certainly got that. "Jack was up way past a reasonable hour kicking political asses last night after you all went to bed."

"So he's still asleep, then?"

"I figured I'd let him get a few extras in, yeah. He doesn't have to be up until 0900, technically." Daniel glanced at the digital clock on the stove. "Which is about now."

Rodney frowned, although it was at himself more than anything. He refilled his coffee mug. "I should have told John to go back to sleep."

"He looked eager for his run, Rodney. He reminds me of Cameron." Daniel smiled and shook his head, thinking of Mitchell and his lack of ability to sit still for long. "I think it's a prerequisite for flyboys to have mild ADD or something."

"Ha! Probably. Was O'Neill ever like that?" Rodney couldn't picture that, really. His experiences with the General were few and far between, and the older man seemed so laid back and lazy that he made John look hyperactive.

"As long as I've known him, he hasn't been a runner, no. But he made use of the gym frequently." Daniel ripped open the bacon package and started frying. "Sam, neither. I'm not really certain how she ever chose to exercise – beyond the whole 'running for our lives' thing."

Grimacing, Rodney nodded and sniffed hungrily at the delicious scent of fried bacon. "God, yeah, the running for your life regime sucks. It works, but it sucks."

"I'd noticed you'd buffed up in the last couple years." Daniel observed, grabbing a flipper to turn over the bacon slices.

"Carrying an extra 15-20 pounds of equipment on missions, usually strapped to my back, will do that." Rodney thought of his pack and the gear he typically bought with him. "Especially on missions that we don't take a jumper. Besides which, both Teyla and Ronon seem to think that it's their duty to 'train' me." He made air quotes, obviously thinking they were crazy. "John probably put them up to it."

Daniel shrugged, putting the first few slices on a plate and setting it in front of Rodney. "Help yourself. Waffles are next." He grinned in amusement as the scientist snatched one up immediately and folded it into his mouth, making sex-noises as the taste exploded on his tongue.

"Oh god that's so good." Rodney moaned between bites, munching happily. "The not-pig we found just isn't the same."

Daniel laughed, and went on with the waffle making. "So how's everything working out with Sam in charge? Has the change-over been more difficult than expected?"

Rodney swallowed, paused, and eyed Daniel. "Than expected? He inquired. "As in...?"

"Losing Elizabeth, going from a civilian-led expedition to a military one..." Daniel closed the lid on the waffle iron after pouring in batter.

"Ah. No, very much as expected, actually. Even though she's military, Sam's still..." Rodney waved a hand, "one of us, you know. Besides, she came to us with a huge reputation as part of SG1. I think everyone was pretty much relieved to have her and not some unknown pencil-pusher from the Pentagon or wher_ever_."

"That's really good to hear. I've worried about her a lot these last few months. This is her first _real_ command, and even though we know she's capable..." Commanding SG1 for less than a year really didn't count, in Daniel's book.

"Sure. That's understandable. Even though I wanted the job, looking back now, I'm not so sure I could handle some of the stuff Sam deals with – Elizabeth, too. I'm not very good at all the double-speak those IOA politicians are so fond of." Rodney licked his fingers, a tiny frown marring his forehead. "I think if I'd been in charge, I would have lost John's friendship altogether. We'd have butted heads too often over too many things."

"So you don't mind Sam being your boss?" Daniel gave him a wary raised eyebrow. Sam's letters home had told how upset Rodney seemed to be about being passed over and his reactions to the first few times she'd had to tell him 'no.'

Rodney flushed, embarrassed. It wasn't like Daniel didn't know about his once-upon-a-time crush on Sam Carter. "Nah. She's good at it. More, she _gets_ it. _All_ of it. She understands both the military stuff and the scientific stuff, and she's actually really good at balancing the two. Plus, she gets all the weirdness that comes out of our lives everyday living in another galaxy and dealing with scary aliens. There aren't many people with those qualifications, you know. Even Elizabeth didn't always _get_ it."

Daniel nodded, eyes wide behind the glasses in surprise. It was high praise coming from McKay. "Good. I'm glad." Then he gave Rodney an evil grin. "Are you still trying to get her to go out with you?" He knew he wasn't, but couldn't resist teasing.

Rodney sputtered into his coffee. "What? No! And what the hell is this? High school?"

Daniel rolled his eyes. "Oh relax. You know what I meant." He peeked under the waffle iron lid, then opened it up when satisfied they were ready. Getting them onto Rodney's plate, he continued, "And why not? She's not seeing anyone, and I know how much you like her."

Rodney blinked, reaching for the syrup Daniel set down nearby. "She's not? But I thought..." he stared at the linguist for a moment in confusion, shook his head, and waved a hand dismissively. "I'm not in her league, anyway. Even if I was, I try not to date people who are technically in my employ or under whom _I_ am employed."

Daniel winced a smile, apologetic. "I'm sorry, Rodney."

"Whatever. No big deal. I get why you asked." Rodney dug into the waffles. "These are great. Aren't you having some?"

"I ate earlier." Daniel refilled his mug and gave Rodney a curious look. "Um, you sounded surprised that Sam's available. Why's that?"

"Huh? Oh." Rodney shrugged. "It's hard to believe she would ever be single. She's smart, beautiful, all that." He was making short work out of his waffles and eyeing up the bacon covetously again. "But I sort of thought she and, you know," Rodney jabbed at the air with his fork in the direction of the ceiling above them, "might have started something."

Daniel's face was comical for about two seconds before it went carefully neutral and Rodney suddenly wondered if he should seek cover. Swallowing his last bite of waffle, he watched Daniel's eyes darken and glint with budding temper – something Rodney had never seen of the mild-mannered linguist before.

"What exactly gave you this idea?" He finally asked in a tightly controlled, quiet voice.

"Um, well," Rodney debated the wisdom of continuing, now that he'd obviously opened a can of worms he hadn't known about, "there's been rumours for years, you know."

"Rumours and gossip? You don't pay attention to that stuff, McKay." Daniel dismissed that outright. "What else?"

For a brief moment, Rodney thought he understood what was going on. "Are _you_ the one Sam's seeing?" He asked, shocked. There's been rumours there, too, but Rodney could never really see the two getting together. Not seriously. They were too different in their ways of thinking about pretty much everything.

"What? No! Absolutely not!" Daniel nearly choked he denied it so fast. "She's practically my sister!"

"Right, so then...what's with the freak-" Rodney stopped as the light bulb went off. "Oh! Oh my god, seriously! You and..." He jabbed a finger at the ceiling again, eyes going enormous. "Holy shit!"

Daniel flushed bright red and his eyes glittered dangerously. "Rodney! Don't..."

"Hey, don't mind me." The scientist hastily waved his hands defensively, backpedalling quickly to reassure the other man. "No problems whatsoever with it, just, you know, wow. Never saw that one coming." Even if that, too, had rumours – strong ones that were much more believable than others. "Oh, and I won't tell a soul. I swear."

All the energy just seemed to drain out of Daniel, and he actually seemed to sag. "Fuck." He swore uncharacteristically. "Jack's gonna kill me. We hadn't told anyone but Teal'c and Vala – and only then because there's no keeping a secret from either one of _those_ two when they suspect something."

Rodney winced. "I'm sorry, Daniel. You're in a tough spot, I know. I swear..." He silently cursed the bigotry and stupidity of the US military.

"It's alright, Rodney." Daniel shook his head and poured another cup of coffee for himself, then kept his slightly shaking hands busy getting another pot started. "I was careless. At least it's you. I know I can trust you. So does Jack." Daniel would make sure of that.

"Well, I wouldn't go _that_ far. I only figured it out because you got so...excited over an assumption I made. Seriously, though, what do I know about relationships?" Rodney made a sound of disgust, directed at himself. "No one's interested in me like that, and I absolutely suck at trying to figure it out, obviously, since everyone I've ever tried to date ends up pretty much hating me."

"What? That's not true, Rodney." Daniel frowned, disliking the very low self-esteem and blatant loneliness in Rodney's tone and expression. "I still want to know about why you think Sam was..." he frowned deeper, "but in a moment. How can you think no one wants to be with you? I thought you were going to start something with that new CMO on Atlantis?"

"Keller. Jennifer Keller." Rodney stared morosely into his mug. "I tried. Stuff happened, and I came to the conclusion that I don't like her as much as I thought I did. I had impossible competition anyway. I mean, competing with Ronon? Or Major Lorne?"

Daniel's eyebrows danced in confusion as he tried to get it all straight. "Uh...so Ronon's not with Teyla?" The fact that the conversation resembled a bad soap opera wasn't lost on Daniel.

"Not that I was aware, but then, like I said, what do I know?" Rodney shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I get the feeling she – Keller – couldn't deal with me on a long term basis, anyway. Doesn't seem to be anyone who can, really. Well, other than John." At the thought of the officer, he actually brightened considerably. "I'm his best friend! He actually told me that. I've never been someone's best friend before. Oh god, what if I screw that up, too?"

Daniel was torn between moving around the counter to hug the stuffing out of Rodney from sympathetic sadness and simply smiling at how pleased and innocently awed Rodney was by Sheppard's friendship – and Rodney's uncertainty about his abilities in the position of best friend. Daniel sipped his coffee instead. "I didn't have one either, until Jack. Not right at first we weren't, of course, but it came, and it grew. Boy did it grow."

Rodney pointed at Daniel. "See! That's what I want! Exactly that!"

"You want your very own Colonel?" Daniel asked casually, carefully, but with a hint of teasing curiosity. He got scowled at for it, but then Rodney's expression morphed into something wistful and kind of sweet.

"I hold no illusions on that score. John 'Kirk' Sheppard would never be interested in me that way in a light year." Rodney sadly poked at the last bite of his waffle, appetite suddenly disappearing. "Can we not talk about it anymore?" He hated how whiny he sounded, but thinking about this topic just made him depressed.

"Yeah, sorry, Rodney." Daniel apologized. It wasn't so long ago he felt the same about Jack. That, and as much as he wanted to, he wasn't going to give Rodney hope that could be false by telling him he thought John might be receptive. It was something they'd have to figure out for themselves.

"'s okay." Rodney mumbled.

"Um, so...Sam?" Daniel asked again, determined to keep his cool. It wasn't Rodney's fault, after all.

"Oh, ah, it isn't like she said anything or whatever. I just..." Rodney sighed, wondering if saying something was really a good idea. "When she first came to Atlantis, I stopped by her quarters to welcome her and she was still unpacking her things, and...pictures." Rodney fiddled with his empty mug.

Daniel stared at him, echoing faintly, "Pictures." All sorts of things were running through his imagination.

"Um, like team pictures, family...and, ah, one of the General in his uniform standing at a podium, maybe, in the Gate room in the SGC? I didn't get that good a look at it, really..." Rodney babbled, trying to mitigate the damage and wincing at the growing thundercloud that Daniel's face was becoming. "Which I know doesn't mean anything, really, so I'm not sure why I thought that..."

"Excuse me." Daniel abruptly started moving around the counter. In the distance, Rodney heard the front door open and close, followed by three sets of footsteps and the low voices of his team returning from their run. All Rodney could think was, 'thank god!' Daniel was very determinedly striding toward the hallway and the stairs. He watched the archaeologist take the stairs two at a time as John, Ronon, and Teyla came into the kitchen.

"Uh, hey, Rodney." John glanced at the stairs over his shoulder then looked back at his friend suspiciously. "What's going on? Daniel looked like he was on the warpath."

Rodney just looked miserable.

Ronon grunted and raised an eyebrow, seeming to know Rodney had likely done something wrong. "Not our business. Smells really good in here. Breakfast?" He sniffed the air hungrily, eyeing Rodney's plate.

"You have time to shower first, Ronon." Rodney told him, waving him away. "Please."

"I don't smell _that_ bad!" Ronon protested, looking very offended. Teyla, however, took pity on Rodney and ushered the big guy away.

John waited until they were upstairs, helping himself to the fresh pot of coffee, and eyed his friend. "No really, Rodney. What'd you do?"

"I..." Rodney didn't even try to deny it was his fault – much to John's surprise – until he realized that the scientist typically didn't try to place blame elsewhere whenever he did something that hurt someone he truly cared about. Obviously he considered Daniel Jackson to be in that category. "I think I just stuck both feet in my mouth."

"Uh huh. That's a given. But how, exactly? What did you say?"

Rodney gave him a withering glare for that, but it quickly changed to nervousness. "Don't be mad for my asking this, but...you're not one of those homophobic military types, are you?"

John spluttered, very nearly spitting his coffee out all over the place. "What?" He demanded, shocked and nonplussed since he certainly had urges in Rodney's direction that went against the UCMJ regulations. "Where the hell did _that_ come from? And no, I'm not!" Rodney seemed to relax and look relieved at his answer, though, and he just felt more and more confused.

There was a very loud THUMP from above, muffled somewhat but still distinctive enough to be recognized as a body hitting the floor. John stared, blinking, wondering if they should go up there and...

"Give me your solemn word and oath as an officer and a gentleman – on Atlantis herself! – that you won't say a word to anyone about what I tell you, John." Rodney half-demanded, half-plead, his eyes so blue and wide in abject misery that John had to do it just to take that horrified look off his face.

"I swear, Rodney. Whatever it is, just tell me!"

"I'm _serious_, John! This could ruin people's _lives_."

"I _am_ being serious! Now what the fuck is going on?" John wanted to reach out and shake Rodney, but grit his teeth to hold back.

"Daniel and O'Neill are together and I may have hinted that there were still some issues yet unresolved between the General and Carter because I saw this picture she had of him in her quarters and she's always got this look when she talks about him and I told Daniel about the pictures, and..."

John listened to the long string of babble out of Rodney's non-stop sentence with maybe two breaths for the entire thing, only hearing the part about Jackson and O'Neill – _holy shit, really? Wow_ – and the fact that Rodney apparently inadvertently just caused a couple's spat over Sam Carter. The officer shook his head, trying to clear it and puzzle through the idea of it all, but ended up reaching out to shove Rodney down into his seat at the counter and bend to put his head between his knees to stop the on-coming hyperventilation his panic attack was going to cause.

"Okay, okay, I get it, Rodney. Calm down, now." John sighed and awkwardly patted him on the back shoulder while Rodney breathed. At least now he knew why Rodney was freaking out about telling him. The relationship really did have the potential to ruin both Daniel's and O'Neill's lives. Even if John had been against same-sex relationships, he wouldn't have said anything. He had too much respect for General O'Neill and Dr. Jackson both. "Stop freaking out. You couldn't have known seeing a picture was such a bad thing."

"I don't know, exactly, why Daniel got so upset, but...I'm afraid I caused a problem between them and that is the absolute _last_ thing I wanted to do..." Rodney sat up again. "It's hard enough keeping things a secret from everyone for fear of the repercussions, but to have a rift develop between them, too? And it's my fault because I can't keep my big mouth shut."

"They'll figure it out, Rodney. It wasn't...there's no 'fault' here for you to claim. Just stay out of it from now on. Let them deal with their own problems." John dropped an arm around Rodney's drooping shoulders. He managed to hide his surprise when the other man actually turned into the embrace and buried his nose in John's sweaty t-shirt, right in the vicinity of his collarbone, arms coming up to wind around John's waist tightly. John wondered briefly if they were both losing their minds, when Rodney suddenly tensed up and pushed himself away, wiping furiously at his eyes and face, grimacing at the world in general.

"Sorry. I just...I didn't mean to..."

"Hey, it's alright, buddy." John was staring to get emotional whiplash. "I've had my moments, too, right? We're cool."

"Good. Good...I'll just...breakfast." Rodney sniffed and moved around the counter to start making more waffles and bacon, avoiding looking at John altogether. John sighed.

"For a moment, I thought you were going to tell me you were gay or bi or something, and that you'd just tried to hit on Daniel!" He tried to make things a little lighter, hoping to distract Rodney from his guilt-complex long enough to snap him out of the funk he was settling into.

To his utter shock and amazement, Rodney actually turned bright lobster red and muttered, "I am bi but no, I wasn't coming on to Daniel! He's a friend. A good friend. Like Carson was."

John's jaw dropped open (luckily, Rodney didn't see the pole axed, fish-out-of-water expression) and he quickly closed it. Stunned, with the budding sense of hope that began to rush in his veins like adrenaline, John decided he couldn't deal with the new information just then. Not...yet.

He had to get out of there.

"Um, I'm going to shower and get dressed. Don't let Ronon eat all the bacon!" He called over his shoulder, making a hasty retreat.

Unfortunately, he had no idea how it looked to Rodney. The red flush of embarrassment bled away until he was pale. Ghostly pale. His blue eyes welled up with tears, and his face was the picture of devastation. Because to Rodney it looked like John had just run away from his no-longer-best-friend (maybe any kind of friend?) because said ex-friend just confessed to playing both sides of the gender fence. It hurt. A lot. John hadn't even acknowledged what Rodney had done.

The tears slipped out and Rodney angrily swiped at them. "Well, _Meredith_, you knew it was impossible and too good to be true. There's nothing to be done. You aren't allowed to love anyone; they'll just break you in the end." It was agony of the worst sort having to admit that, but he did it anyway. "Get over it and do what you came here to do." He scolded himself, wishing he'd never woken up that morning.


	9. Chapter 9

_Disclaimer:_ The author does not own any of NCIS or Stargate, only borrows them for the sake of this fanfiction. No profit is made by the writing of this story.

_Warnings:_ Anything one expects to see on Stargate or NCIS, expect it here; also, slash in the form of Jack/Daniel, and John/Rodney; het pairings include Tony/Ziva, Gibbs/Jenny.

_If you dislike such things, or are underage, do not read!_

* * *

_Thank you to Emergency70 for the beta!_

**Chapter IX**

Daniel closed the bedroom doors with a deceptively soft 'click' and glared across the room at the partially closed bathroom door. He folded his arms over his chest, planted himself firmly in front of the door to block it, and called out in a tightly controlled voice, "Jack? Are you up?"

"Yep. Just a minute, Danny." Water splashed, and a moment later, Jack came out rubbing his head briskly with a towel. "Good morning, Daniel my love!" Jack smiled and greeted his lover cheerfully before he got a good look at Daniel's face and body language.

"Jack." Daniel returned, as evenly as possible.

Whiskey-brown eyes flicked over Daniel, then around the room looking for the threat. Jack dropped the towel on the end of the bed and frowned. "Daniel?" He asked for clarification. "Something wrong?"

"Did you or did you not speak with Sam and settle that issue like you _told_ me you did? And I quote, 'It's done, and it's just you and me now, Daniel.'" The irate linguist quoted when Jack opened his mouth to say he never said any such thing.

Jack scowled and sat heavily on the end of the bed. "What the hell, Daniel? Where did this come from all of a sudden? And do you think _now_ is the best time to be bringing up that old broken record, again?" He countered, avoiding answering masterfully.

"I recently found out some things that tell me Sam obviously has _not_ put the idea of a relationship with you out of her head, and no it isn't the best time but in my vast past experience dealing with you and this particular subject I've learned that there _is_ no 'best time' to talk about it." Daniel stalked toward the bed and Jack (his bare feet distracting Jack thoroughly) and glared down at the General, planting his balled up hands on his hips. "Therefore, Jack O'Neill, answer the damn question – and don't you dare fucking lie to me."

Beginning to lose his own temper, Jack stood up and got in Daniel's face. "What '_things_?'" He made air quotes mockingly. "We've been around this BBQ a few times, Daniel, and I'll tell you the same fucking thing I said before: I told her there would never be an 'us' and that she was better off moving on! If those _things_ you learned tell you otherwise, then there's nothing I can do or say! I cannot control someone else's emotions that way!" Jack leaned in, so close Daniel could smell his minty fresh toothpaste and count the golden specks in the brown of his eyes (if he'd cared to). "This jealous streak of yours needs to stop, Dr. Jackson! It's extremely unbecoming."

Daniel actually snarled and turned away, taking a few steps apart from the man who infuriated him so much, his arms coming up in his trademark self-hug – only this time it seemed more to contain his emotions from exploding outward and making him do something he'd really regret later.

"It's a jealous streak born of ten goddamn years of you avoiding the Sam issue and taking out all of your frustrations on _me_." Daniel rounded on Jack again. "I told you after I got back from the Ori galaxy that I would not be your dirty little secret or your 'mistress' if we got together. Meaning you were supposed to talk to Sam and make sure she understood you were never going to pursue anything with her. _Ever_." He stared hard at Jack. "You never did tell me what you told her or what she said. Every time I've asked all I get was 'Drop it, Danny, it's over,' and I never pushed because I imagined it hadn't gone well and you just didn't want to think about her. Because she was – is – your friend, too."

Jack ran his fingers through his hair. "I _don't_ want to think about her, Daniel! I love _you_! Why can't you just take that and put the past where it belongs?"

"Because Sam's still got pictures of you all over her quarters and in her office on Atlantis and she still has stars and hearts in her eyes whenever she talks about you! That's not moving on or getting over you!" Daniel yelled.

"...on Atlantis..." Jack repeated, a particularly dark expression slowly forming on his face. "Goddamn it! _McKay_!" He wheeled abruptly and started for the door. "I'm gonna shoot that little, egotistical son of a –"

Daniel did the only thing he could think of to stop Jack in his immediate panic. He tackled him.

They hit the floor with a hard, muffled THUMP. Despite the sound-proofing and carpeting, Daniel was pretty sure anyone downstairs would still hear it, however at the moment he had other problems. The only reason the tackle worked was the surprise of it and the momentum created by Daniel's weight and Jack's forward motion toward the door. Now he had about 180 lbs. of muscled, trained General to deal with, a soldier who was fighting Daniel back. Not to mention a lover that was severely pissed off.

"Jack! Quit...fighting me!" He ground out, trying his level best to keep Jack pinned to the floor on his stomach where he was at least a little more manageable. "Leave Rodney alone! He didn't do or say anything on purpose! He's got his own issues, and he doesn't need you killing him for something he said in casual conversation!" Daniel didn't even try denying it had been Rodney who'd said anything, and he wasn't surprised Jack leapt to the correct assumption it _had_ been Rodney.

"He's fucking...up...our...relationship!" Jack growled out, shifting and wriggling and trying to buck Daniel off. "I won't let him! I finally have you...and I won't let..._anything_ take you...away!"

At that Daniel stopped and just let his weight hold Jack down, panting from exertion and wondering why they always seemed to end up fighting each other to be together. "Jack...no one's taking me away." He breathed heavily into the back of Jack's neck. "I just want you to apply some of that sentiment toward..."

"...putting Sam in her place?" Came the snide, sarcastic, none-too-pleased reply.

Daniel winced, because no matter how awful and unkind that sounded, it was pretty much the truth. "Yes." He agreed unhappily. "I can't help it, Jack. She's a threat. I don't want _her_ to take _you_ away from _me_."

Jack was silent for a moment, tense, and then he went boneless under Daniel and released a deep, heart-wrenching sigh. "Aww...shit, Danny."

"Yeah." Daniel nuzzled at the nape of Jack's neck with his nose and lips, feeling the shiver that ran through the older man at the gesture. "Can I let you up now?" He asked, subdued and drained of the jealous anger from earlier.

"Please. My knees are killing me." He'd hit the floor and landed partially on his knees, and the joints just couldn't take things like that anymore and bounce back.

Horrified, Daniel rolled off and got to his feet, allowing Jack to roll onto his back before holding out both hands to help him up. Swaying a little with vertigo, Jack tugged Daniel into his arms and refused to let go when the younger man struggled a little.

"Listen, Danny, we're both possessive bastards who've been through too much together to get where we are. I gave you my word that I talked to Carter, and I think you know I'd never have gone back on that or lied to you. You're too important to me to have risked losing you because I'm being stupid." Jack said quietly, resting his forehead against Daniel's lightly. "If she's still hung up on me, it's not because I didn't try, okay?"

"I'm sorry." Daniel whispered, clutching at Jack unhappily. "I'm so sorry. I flew off the handle when there was no good reason..."

"Hey! You have good reasons, Danny, and it's gonna take time for us to make this thing work out and for us to be secure and comfortable, right?" Jack decided forgiving and forgetting was a better idea here. He also knew that Daniel was going to be insecure and defensive for some time yet when it came to the whole Carter issue – even if Daniel still treasured her as his friend, teammate, and big sister.

Daniel buried his face in Jack's neck and hung on. "I feel really stupid right now." Jack brought him in as close as possible and held him.

"It's okay, Daniel. Just...let's not do that tackling thing again, alright? My knees can't take it." Jack meant it to be a joke, lighten the mood a little, but it really wasn't one. He was going to have to take the good stuff this morning if he wanted to function around the pain and throbbing aches.

Sniffling, Daniel pulled away, horrified that he'd caused Jack such suffering. "I'm so sorry! Here, let me get your pills..." he rushed off to the bathroom. Jack sighed and eased himself over to the bed where he sat and proceeded to massage around his kneecaps with his fingers to ease the aching and loosen the tension. Daniel returned with the two little pills and a glass of water, and once Jack had taken the meds, Daniel took over the massaging. "I didn't really think when I did that. I just didn't want you killing Rodney for being an unwitting messenger."

"I don't understand...what pictures?" Jack honestly sounded confused, and Daniel glanced up over the rim of his glasses. He told Jack what Rodney had said – the whole conversation, really – and huddled in on himself a little at the annoyed glare Jack gave him about Rodney now knowing about Daniel and Jack's relationship.

"Look, I know he's not really your first choice to come out to, but we can't change it, Jack, and he's trustworthy." Daniel sat back on the floor, hugging his legs and biting his bottom lip anxiously. "Rodney…is in much the same boat I was not long ago. He gets us perfectly, and he would sooner face a Wraith Queen unarmed than out us and get us in trouble."

Jack's scowl slid into a frown. "Same boat?"

"John."

"Ah. Really? He actually admitted it to you?"

"Yes. He's quite certain the emotional stuff isn't returned, though. He desperately wants – _needs_ – to keep John's friendship, and he's willing to keep what he really feels to himself." Daniel felt the tug on his heart strings. "Exactly like I was."

Jack shook his head, feeling badly for the scientist, too, but not about to play matchmaker or get involved in someone's personal business. "Well it's not something we can do anything about – or should – so leave it alone, for now. We've got other big stuff to worry about."

Daniel got to his feet and looked down at himself. "I'd better change. Gibbs and his team will be here soon." He knew the subject was closed for now.

"Yeah."

* * *

John was on his way down the stairs when the doorbell rang, so he veered off to the door to answer it. He was pretty sure he had his reaction to Rodney's revelation under control now (a freezing cold shower and his new personal mantra – 'I will not jump Rodney, I will not jump Rodney…' – repeating over and over in his head) so he felt relatively safe coming back down and facing McKay.

Recognizing the silhouettes of DiNozzo, McGee, and David through the glass panels of O'Neill's door, John opened it up and stood to the side. "Morning. Come on in, Agents, Officer David."

"Good morning, Colonel Sheppard." Ziva returned the greeting for all of them. John noticed that both she and McGee were rested and alert, but DiNozzo looked like he hadn't slept in a week. "We are somewhat early, yes?"

"It's fine. Follow me, and I'll round up everyone else." John motioned for them to come along. "Agent Gibbs isn't here yet, anyway."

"He will be. He was at NCIS this morning to talk to Director Vance." DiNozzo said, looking around O'Neill's house curiously (re. snooping). "Nice place."

John opened the double doors to O'Neill's study and waved them inside. He figured it was where they'd conduct their meeting. To Tony's comment, he shrugged and replied, "He's the man who saved the world a few dozen times. Be right back, ah…make yourselves at home but please don't touch anything." John glanced around at some of the things that sat on bookshelves and tables around the room, then slipped out again.

Rodney as just coming down the hall from the kitchen, and nearly walked into him. "They're here?" he asked, his tone even and with a questioning lilt, but something in it made John stop and look back at him with a tiny frown.

"Except Gibbs, yeah. I put them in O'Neill's study." John blinked when Rodney only nodded and moved past him to go there. "Rodney? Something wrong?"

"I'm fine. Better go tell the General they're here." Rodney didn't even look back at him, simply kept on walking.

Frowning for real now, John puzzled over the sudden chill toward him from the man he called best friend and hoped to one day call his. Shaking his head, John hurried upstairs. He'd talk to Rodney later and find out what was wrong.

He stopped first at Teyla and Ronon's room, finding Ronon putting on his shoes.

"Teyla's in the shower." The big guy informed him. "Is breakfast ready?"

"Probably. Go ask McKay. He was going to make something when I came up for my shower." John left him to knock on O'Neill's door.

"What?" the door opened almost immediately and the General stood there staring at him.

"Ah…NCIS are here, minus Gibbs, sir. DiNozzo thinks he'll be here soon, though." John reported, straightening up under the stare because for some odd reason he was feeling really uncomfortable under its weight. When O'Neill didn't say anything, John added, "Sir?"

"I heard, Sheppard. I'll be right there. He glanced over his shoulder, then sighed and ran a hand through his slivered hair. "Is there any breakfast made?"

"I think so, sir, but if you want any you'd better go get it before Ronon eats it all." John answered with the warning.

"D'oh!" Jack pushed past him yelling over his shoulder, "Daniel! Hurry up!" then closed the door behind himself and led John back downstairs. "Grab a bite to eat, Sheppard, and tell Ronon to save some for the rest of us." He ordered, heading for the study. John took that as dismissal and went back to the kitchen.

Ronon was already polishing off his first plateful, but John could see he needn't worry about not getting any of the food because there was a real feast spread out on the counter. Rodney had apparently gone to town. John made a mental note to go buy groceries to restock the General's cupboards and fridge before they went back to Atlantis. They were eating the man out of house and home, after all.

Half an hour went by quickly by the time everyone had eaten, arrived, and gathered in the study. Gibbs had shown up, too, so as soon as they were all comfortable, Daniel invited Mitchell down from Odyssey to join them.

…and for whatever reason, John was _still_ getting the chills from Rodney.

"Okay, let's get this going." O'Neill started, leaning forward over his desktop. "What do we know so far?"

"We know that Jenny was killed for the documents that Mike Franks found and…hid someplace, and that now _Franks_ has been abducted by someone who appears to be connected to the Trust – or Baal – or both." John stated, slowly panning the room with his gaze. It stopped on Rodney, who was studiously avoiding his eyes no matter what John tried to do.

"We know that his last location was at that condemned gas station in Phoenix." McGee put in. "And that there was a…um…firefight of some kind."

"Which is why we assume it's the Trust or Baal, yes." McKay grumbled. "The problem is that we have nothing to tell us where they took Franks. Where's their operation being run? We don't have any _leads_."

"Abby is running the tire tracks that Ziva took pictures of from the scene." Gibbs informed them all, gaining their immediate attention. "She was working on it when I stopped by earlier this morning. Her hope is to match the tire treads to some vehicles then narrow it down with the footage from any security or traffic cameras in the area."

"See? This is why we needed you and your team, Gibbs!" O'Neill slapped his desk emphatically. "We likely wouldn't have thought of that. We aren't investigators."

"At least you had the sense to know that. Most others we've worked with in the past haven't been as…intelligent." Gibbs replied with a grunt of annoyance.

"So what do we do while we wait to find out if Abby finds anything?" Tony asked. "'Cause I'm all out of ideas. I tried everything else I could think of last night."

John frowned and pinned wary hazel eyes on Gibbs. "You could explain to us – to me, Agent Gibbs – why you torched Jenny's home." It was a mystery he'd had no chance to ask about until now what with all the commotion in the last day or so. To his credit, Gibbs didn't deny the accusation or flinch away. He met John's gaze solidly and nodded once.

Interestingly enough, Gibbs' team was looking back and forth between the two incredulously.

"Boss?" Tony questioned, eyes wide.

"What you probably don't know, Colonel, is that there were three agents on that mission nine years ago. William Decker, Jenny…and myself." Gibbs paused, letting that sink in. He could see the wheels and gears turning in the group's heads, and continued, "Our mission was a simple one; we each had a target to eliminate – they were rogue spies operating in Europe from among the Eastern countries Russia used to control. Decker was our go-to guy, stationed in Europe. Jenny and I were tasked to help him out." Gibbs sighed, rubbing his face with a hard. "Without getting into stuff I'm not supposed to say, Decker and I succeeded, and until just recently I – and our superiors – believed Jenny had succeeded, also."

"But she didn't." O'Neill guessed. Gibbs glanced at him, nodding, and was surprised to see the look of total understanding in the General's direction. Gibbs wondered briefly what the man's record would tell him if he ever were to see it.

"Assassinations?" Rodney cried, horrified.

"McKay…" John warned, and frowned when the scientist gave him an icy glare and looked away.

"No, General. Apparently not. I doesn't surprise me, really – didn't when Mike told _me_ what she'd told _him_. Jenny…she was an excellent agent – intelligent, quick, strong willed, loyal and patriotic. She had no qualms about using a weapon if she or her people were being attacked. But…"

"It's different to take a gun and deliberately hunt down and kill someone, even if it's a sanctioned hit and considered a righteous combat kill." John murmured. He hadn't had to do anything much of that kind of thing as a soldier, yet, even as a Special Ops one, but he understood regardless. "Jenny isn't the type to be able to do that as easily as others."

"Yeah." Gibbs agreed, staring at a spot on the carpet. "To be honest, I believed she wouldn't be able to do it, even back then, but…well, long story short, she assured us she was successful, and as her target never resurfaced to contradict her claim…"

"Okay, so why does all this have anything to do with burning down her house?" McKay asked, still disturbed but moving on.

"I finished what Jenny couldn't." Gibbs glared at his impatience. "Mike and I."

Jack's eyes widened briefly. "Are you telling me the target came after her? And you burned down the house to cover it up?"

"That explains the body found in the wreckage." Daniel added, faintly.

"You're not getting it." Gibbs huffed. "The one who killed Decker, and his wife, and set those goons on Jenny at that diner _was_ her target – a woman named Natasha Lenkov. From what I figure, it's taken the bitch this long to weather the heat after her partners were taken out, and then to find a new…employer." Gibbs stopped, shook his head at himself, and went on. "She took the time to track Decker down, lure out the rest of us by killing him and get her revenge. Mike told me...he said Jenny was trying to protect me from her mistake."

There was a long moment of silence while the full story sunk into everyone's heads. John abruptly got up and walked away, heading over to the big picture window to stare out at the world. Hugging himself against the grief, he leaned one shoulder against the window frame.

Teyla watched him, concerned, but left him to deal with things on his own – at least for the moment. She glanced first at Ronon, who shook his head, and then at Rodney, who appeared to be moving back and forth and all around through emotions ranging from worry and concern, to anger and annoyance, and…confusion. Teyla wasn't certain what had occurred after she and Ronon went upstairs to shower that morning, but she was too well tuned to her teammates and their moods to have _not_ noticed the change between their Earth members. Looking back at Ronon, she saw he, too, had noticed by the slight frown on his face as he watched McKay silently.

"Yes, well…" Jack cleared his throat and, after a brief glance at John's stiff back, pushed on. "Thanks for clearing that up, Gibbs. It completely sucks that it came down that to that."

"No shit."

"So we're assuming, then," Mitchell spoke up, having been silent the entire time, "that this Lenkov woman found her new employers in the Trust? Or someone connected to them?"

"Seems that way." Daniel agreed. "She probably didn't know they were using her as much as she was using them."

"Or perhaps she did not care as long as she achieved her revenge." Ziva speculated neutrally. She didn't seem to notice how Tony inched closer to her on the sofa, though McGee and Gibbs did, when she spoke.

Gibbs cell phone rang at that moment, and he pulled it out of his pocket to answer. "Yeah, Abs." He said when he saw the number of her lab's line on the display.

"Gibbs! I totally rule!" She announced excitedly, her jubilation coming across loud and clear, even over the phone. "For my extraordinary feats of forensic matchmaking, I have earned at least a week's worth of Caf-pows!"

"Point me in Mike's direction and you'll get them." Gibbs promise, despite his apprehension at having her even more jacked up than normal on her favourite pseudo-beverage that was full of caffeine and sugar. "What'd'ya have, Abby?" He put her on speaker.

"I sent all the info to McGee, but I did it! I matched the tread marks to the tires, and the tires to vehicles, and after only a couple of hours of crappy traffic camera footage I found a match!" Abby exclaimed gleefully. McGee had hastily pulled out his own cell – the über-smart kind that did nearly everything but hold your conversations for you – to check his email.

"Got it, boss." The youngest agent confirmed, opening it up to view the contents.

"I found a black van belonging to one of the companies that turned up on my list of vehicles that had these tires on them. Even better, the van got caught running a red light!" Abby informed them. "They even had the company logo plastered all over the side of the van!"

"Skye communications Inc." McGee read loud. "A media and communications company based out of Las Vegas, but owns several networks and publications nation-wide – including one in Phoenix."

"Vegas!" McKay exclaimed, head whipping up at that bit of information.

O'Neill and Daniel shared a look. "Baal." They stated at the same time.

John wandered back over and leaned a hip against Rodney's sofa-chair. "Sounds like we have a winner. McKay, find out every detail possible about this company, specifically…"

"Addresses, buildings, blueprints, etc. I'm already working on it." Rodney interrupted, tone clipped but less cold than before. It was more his "Shut up, I'm busy, here" voice.

"Thanks, Abs." Gibbs said before hanging up. If this panned out, he would find something much better than Caf-pows for her to show his gratitude. "McGee! Check flight records and see if anyone travelling under that company name flew in or out of Phoenix in the last week – commercial and private flights."

"On it, boss!" McGee, who'd been looking a tad put out at having his usual role usurped by the grouchy astrophysicist, brightened and went to work. "Though…this would be faster and easier on a computer…"

The General crooked a finger. "C'mere. Use this thing." He pointed at the computer on his desk. McGee hurried over and took the seat O'Neill vacated. Jack hovered nearby, watching the young man play the machine like a finely tuned instrument.

"May I ask why this new information makes you so certain it is the correct company and that it is one that is associated with the Goa'uld, Baal?" Teyla asked.

Mitchell had caught on, too, and answered before either Daniel or O'Neill could. "His ego is big enough that of course he wouldn't hesitate to use a name that is associated with him – as in his persona as a deity. That and the fact that the company's headquarters are in Las Vegas…"

"Not good." Rodney muttered, still focused on his screen and typing away. "That's _way_ too close for comfort."

"I don't get it." Tony said flatly.

"In Middle Eastern mythology, Baal was a prominent god of the sky and storms." Daniel explained, going into lecture mode. "He was later absorbed by the ancient Egyptians into their mythology as an aspect of Seth, the god of Chaos. In reality, it's more like Baal was a lesser System Lord who worked for Seth – at least until Seth got himself stuck here and lost his power base among the other System Lords." Daniel smiled faintly. "Don't worry; Seth was found years ago and he's long dead."

"And Las Vegas?" Ziva prodded.

Frowning, John tapped his fingers restlessly on the back of Rodney's chair. "We have a facility located not far from Vegas. It's unlikely that the Trust and/or Baal would set up one of their front companies so close to it by coincidence."

Rodney snorted, "Ha!" in agreement.

McGee peered around the desktop monitor, wide-eyed. "Don't tell us this facility of yours is at Groom Lake."

"Groom Lake?" Ziva echoed, confused.

"Oh for cryin' out loud!" Jack huffed. "Area 51, yes. It _is_ real, and there _is_ research going on there that has plenty to do with all _kinds_ of alien technology." He rubbed his face, exasperated, with one hand. "Fantastic. When this is over, I'll have to order a full security check of all Area 51 personnel to weed out Trust spies. Again." He nudged the youngest agent. "Hey. Find what you're looking for?"

McGee blinked, shaking his head. "Uh, right. Searching…" Silently he resolved to never, ever tell Abby the truth about _that_ particular bit of alien/UFO lore. It was bad enough already.

"Wow." Tony was looking as amazed and dumbfounded as his junior partner. "It totally is an episode of the _X-Files_. I can't believe the government's managed to keep everyone in the dark all this time."

McKay got up and carried his laptop over to the TV, where he spent a few minutes fussing with cords and connections until he had the two machines hooked up. Then he brought up the results of his search. "Skye Communications Inc. was founded three years ago by a group of smaller media companies that sold out to, you guessed it, Baal." Rodney tapped a key and up came a picture of the snake himself, dressed to the nines as a rich, successful media baron in Armani and Louis Vitton. "Also known as Maxime Skye, CEO and primary shareholder of Skye Media Ltd., the parent company of Skye Communications Inc." Rodney sighed. "He's brilliant as a businessman, by the way, which really shouldn't surprise anyone considering he's a Goa'uld, but…" he shrugged. "Anyway, they're currently looking into grabbing up land on the Vegas strip and getting into the casino business, but from what I gather they're having trouble deciding on a theme."

"Casino?" Ronon queried.

"A large, public gambling establishment." Daniel answered. "The ones in Vegas are…way, way more…" he hesitated, searching for an appropriate term to describe the outlandish city that had long ago earned the title of 'America's playground.'

"Ridiculous." Rodney scoffed. "Outrageous. The best way to lose all your worldly possessions in less than an hour."

"I don't know…" John drawled, the urge to needle his friend and get back at him for the cold shoulder was too strong. "I've always liked Vegas."

"Hmph. You would." Rodney sniffed disdainfully, muttering something about showgirls under his breath. John glared at him, ignoring the hurt that was making his chest ache. "So anyway, I've got blueprints for their building in Phoenix that houses the TV station and an independent publishing house the company owns."

Gibbs studied the picture, then the blueprints. "We could each take a team and hit both places at once."

"We don't know that Mike is at either location, though." Tony felt obligated to point out. "If we hit both, and he's not at either, than we've not only wasted time but alerted this Baal guy to the fact that we're on to him."

"DiNozzo's right. Baal could have your friend anywhere, by now." Jack agreed, but not looking very happy about it. "We need more confirmation, especially because at this point the snake probably doesn't know the SGC, specifically, is on to him. He thinks he's only dealing with a bunch of ignorant, dumb humans with no clue about what he really is or what he's capable of."

"Ah…there's no record of any commercial flights, boss," McGee spoke up, "but a Maxime Skye filed a flight plan in Phoenix, destination Las Vegas, for his private plane yesterday evening."

"There's our confirmation that Vegas is a good target." Gibbs stood up, ready to just go and tear the place apart.

"Or it's a clever way of distracting anyone looking for Mike from where he truly is – namely still in Phoenix. Especially if Baal thinks he had the documents with him when Mike came to Phoenix." Mitchell shook his head in cautious disagreement. "He's a sneaky son of a bitch like that."

"How are we to find out, then?" Ziva demanded impatiently.

John, who was standing in front of the TV and studying the blueprints very carefully, said absently, "If I were an egomaniacal parasitic alien bent on world domination, but had to hide what I was from the majority of dumb Tau'ri until I'd gotten everything I needed in place to take over, then I'd probably have a secret – or at least totally off-limits area – where I could do my evil scheming and such important things like hold prisoners and interrogate them."

Everyone stopped and stared at him, then at the TV. At the sudden silence, John turned to look at them all, flushing a little. "That's how it goes in the movies and on TV, anyway. The bad guy always has a lair and Baal is a cliché bad buy."

Jack burst out laughing. "Hell, John, they _all_ are! And you haven't even had to deal with them." He shook his head. "Daniel?"

"Yeah, you pretty much nailed it, John. So let's see…" he moved over to the TV, along with the others, and they all crowded around it as Rodney expanded both sets of blueprints.

"Hmm…the Vegas building is much larger, as to be expected." McKay mused. "More complex, too."

"I could use the Asgard sensors to try and find out if there's anything to the buildings that aren't on the blueprints." Mitchell offered. "Or rather, McKay should come up and try that, since he'd have a better idea of what he's looking at than I would." Cameron hadn't quite gotten the hang of interpreting sensor data yet, much to his chagrin. The tech stuff wasn't his thing. He left that stuff to Sam and Daniel – and occasionally Vala.

"Yeah, okay. Go." Jack waved the Colonel off.

"Sheppard?" Rodney asked, back to his cool voice of neutrality.

"Get our comms, first, then go with Mitchell." John nodded, then frowned as his friend quickly left the room without another word. "Sir, may I suggest finding out if the NID has any more info on this company or alias of Baal's? There might be other facilities we're unaware of. McKay only looked up the ones associated with the company."

"Right. Daniel, call Davis. Please." O'Neill added at Daniel's raised eyebrow. The linguist walked over to Jack's desk and picked up the phone.

John stuffed his hands in his pockets, shifted back and forth on his feet, and gave up. "I'll just go see what's holding Rodney up." He said, doing his best not to run out the study door and up the stairs.

Gibbs, sensing trouble in the ranks, looked at the General questioningly.

"Don't look at me, Gibbs. I don't pretend to understand the minds or moods of scientists." Jack responded with a shrug, then jerked a thumb in Daniel's direction. "Except his, and then only after _years_ of experience."

A wadded up ball of paper hit the back of Jack's head. The General just smiled.

* * *

In the bedroom they were sharing, John found Rodney sitting on the bed with his earwig in his hands and the open case beside him, staring down at the tiny radio disconsolately. John crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe, and asked quietly, "What's wrong, buddy? You've been acting weird all morning."

Rodney stiffened at his voice and turned his head to glare. "Nothing's _wrong_. Why would something be wrong?" He looked away and made a big show of putting on his earwig and getting ready to leave. "Yours is in the case. I tested them and they're ready to go. Full power."

John didn't move, continuing to block the door even when Rodney approached and tried to leave. "Okay, but that's not what I'm here for. What's going on? Since I got back from my run and came up to shower I've been _persona non gratis_ with you. What did I do?"

"Nothing." Was all the answer he got – which was an answer, even if he didn't explain it. "We can talk later. I have to go." Rodney tried again to squeeze past John, but the officer easily blocked and pushed him back into the room. "Colonel…"

"I'm trying to think about what I said or did this morning to make you mad, and I'm coming up blank, but I obviously did _something_, so whatever it was, I'm _sorry_, Rodney." John tried to catch his gaze, but the blue eyes that normally focused on him with all the precision of a laser darted away whenever he did.

"If you want to find Mike Franks, you need to step aside, Sheppard." Rodney growled. Inside he was almost screaming with the desperation to get away before he did or said anything to further drive John away. He was so confused by John's reaction earlier and how he was now here acting normally like nothing had happened. He didn't know what to think, and really, he didn't want to right now.

Torn, John hesitated, but suddenly became grimly determined and reached for Rodney. He grabbed the other man by the arms, shuffled him backward far enough into the room that he could close the door, then gave Rodney a long, hard stare. "I thought we were friends, _Rodney_." He stressed McKay's given name, in acknowledgement of how the scientist had stopped using John's. "Best friends. Now I'm suddenly getting the cold shoulder from you and I don't understand why." When Rodney stubbornly raised his chin and glared, but stayed silent, John ran a hand through his hair in frustration and scowled unhappily. "Talk to me, damn it! Don't you get that I need you? I can't…not alone…"

He hated how weak he sounded but if it got the stubborn ass to talk, then fine.

It worked, too. Rodney's expression crumpled and he was reaching out almost unconsciously.

"Oh no, don't you lay that guilt thing on me." Rodney protested, his resolve crumbling into dust at the expression on John's face. "Damn it, John! I'm trying to _help_! Don't you fucking look at me all forlorn…" he suddenly threw his hands up in the air and exclaimed, "Fine! I'm pissed because I thought I could trust you, and then I tell you the most personal thing I have left to tell _anyone_ in the whole goddamn universe, let alone my supposedly best friend, and all you can do is run away as fast as you can without even acknowledging what I just told you! Happy now?"

John stared at him in shock, mouth open in a surprised 'O.' He thought quickly back, and it hit him that Rodney was right. He _had_ reacted that way – or at least that's how it looked. Cursing and kicking himself mentally, he snapped his mouth shut and, feeling pretty miserable himself, reached out and pulled Rodney into his arms, hugging him hard.

"Shit, I'm an asshole. I'm so sorry, Rodney. It wasn't…I didn't mean to.." John swallowed his words and only tightened his hold when Rodney tried to dislodge himself. "I'm sorry. I swear I don't care about your sexuality, Rodney. I mean, I _care_, just not in a negative way…I'm not saying this very well, am I?"

Rodney stopped struggling, listening to the truth and sincerity in John's words and voice, and felt all the tension drain out of him along with his anger, fear, and loss. Tentatively, he lifted his arms and curled them around John, returning the embrace shyly. "I may have overreacted…a little." He mumbled in concession, muffled by John's shirt.

"No, you didn't." John closed his eyes in relief, and took a quiet breath, inhaling Rodney's scent and committing it to memory. At which point he came to a decision. "If it'll help…I'm not exactly straight as a ruler, either…"

It seemed to take a moment for that to sink in, and when it did, Rodney reared back and stared at him from inches away in shock.

"What?" He cried, sputtering in confusion. "You're not serious! You…you're the Kirk of the Pegasus Galaxy! You've never so much as…"

"Hello, Colonel here!" John rolled his eyes, but they were sparkling in wry amusement, too. Rodney had to remember to breathe, as he'd never really looked at those hazel eyes up close like this before and it was supremely distracting. "I've had that side of myself wrapped up tight and locked away for safe-keeping for a very long time, Rodney. I could never risk it. Not with my already questionable record in the service." He admitted softly.

To his surprise, Rodney flushed a deep red, and dropped those eyes that John likened to the blue of Atlantis' ocean on the original planet the city had rested on, to stare down at their feet. Wondering what was going on in that big brain of his, John tilted his head and squeezed Rodney's upper arm where his hand had come to rest.

"Rodney?"

"Oh, ah…sorry. Just…a lot to take in, you know?" Clearing his throat, Rodney seemed to pull himself together again and took a couple steps back from John, straightening back up to his usual confident stature. "So, we're good, then? Because I should really…" he pointed at the door.

John smiled slightly and nodded. "Yeah, of course." He blinked when the light bulb and his greatest hope merged in his brain as Rodney flushed a pink-faced, little shy grin and turned toward the door. Before he even realized he was moving, John was reaching out to grab hold of Rodney just as he was gripping the doorknob to open the door. "Wait, Rodney!"

The scientist paused and half-turned back. "Wha-" he began to ask but suddenly found himself back in John's hold and a surprisingly soft set of lips pressing earnestly but cautiously to his. He froze for a moment, absolutely dumbfounded, and then his mind caught up with the sensory input and he made a noise of surprised pleasure deep in the back of his throat even as he grabbed a fistful of John's shirt and hauled him in as close as possible, eyes closing and body yielding to the kiss, welcoming it. John shivered at the sound, responding to it by tilting his head just a little… It went from warm and tentative to hot, demanding and desperate from one second to the next.

Overwhelmed, but in no way willing to let go of John, Rodney let himself go, giving in to the physical and emotional storm that was John Sheppard and opening himself up to his deepest, best-kept secret in the hopes that John would understand what Rodney couldn't say.

A moment later, as abruptly as he'd started it, John ended the kiss and took a big step back from Rodney, breathing hard and eyes very wide – and very dark with lust and emotion. Rodney blinked at him, somewhat dazed and _really_ turned on.

"Sorry." John rasped, the apology coming out rough and low in the wake of his actions. "I just had to…'cause I, you know…" he flushed in embarrassment when Rodney just looked at him with a hot, glazed expression and rubbed at the back of his neck in a nervous gesture rarely seen. "…like you, and…" he cleared his throat, "Well, now we have something to look forward to after this mess is over with…"

Rodney's crooked mouth twitched, and a fond smile took over – even as a dull red flush crept back up his neck toward his face. "We both suck at this." He said, grinning when John nodded fervently and looked relieved. "But that was a good place to start." Rodney winked at him and turned, opening the door. "So let's go save the world so we can…discuss this more satisfactorily sooner rather than later, Colonel Sheppard."

Feeling infinitely lighter in mind and heart, John grabbed the case containing his comm units from the bed and rushed after the man he'd just kissed and basically declared his undying devotion to in the only way either of them understood perfectly.

Striding into the study, Rodney declared, "I'm ready. Let's go, Colonel." He snapped his fingers impatiently at Mitchell. "Chop chop!"

Mitchell gave him a look, completely un-intimidated, and reached for his ear, even as he said, "With your leave, sir?" to O'Neill.

The General nodded, raising an eyebrow at McKay, then Sheppard as the other officer came in behind his scientist. Whatever had been wrong between them was obviously gone, and Jack was relieved enough to put it completely away, never to be worried about again. "Yeah, go." He waved in dismissal.

"McGee, go with Dr. McKay." Gibbs ordered. The junior agent blinked in surprise but didn't protest. Instead he moved to stand with McKay and Mitchell obediently.

"We'll be in touch." McKay said to the room in general. "I can't say how long this will take."

Between one second and the next, they were enveloped in light and were gone.


	10. Chapter 10

_Disclaimer:_ The author does not own any of NCIS or Stargate, only borrows them for the sake of this fanfiction. No profit is made by the writing of this story.

_Warnings:_ Anything one expects to see on Stargate or NCIS, expect it here; also, slash in the form of Jack/Daniel, and John/Rodney; het pairings include Tony/Ziva, Gibbs/Jenny.

_If you dislike such things, or are underage, do not read!_

_Thank you to Emergency70 for the beta!_

* * *

**Chapter IX**

"Sir! Welcome back!"

Mitchell gave one of his slow, easy smiles and nodded at the saluting Major who rose from the Chair at their appearance. "Major Greene. Any 911 issues?"

"Not a one, sir. There's a message from the SGC for you from General Landry." Greene handed over a tablet laptop, and Mitchell accepted it.

"Okay. Thank you, Greene. I'm taking our guests to the Core. You've got the bridge." Mitchell tucked the tablet under an arm and motioned for McKay and McGee to follow him. "Gentleman."

"This is pretty amazing. I can't even begin to imagine what it must be like to work on a ship – in space!" McGee enthused as they weaved around crew members, corridors, and the occasional obstruction. "I mean, artificial gravity! This totally blows my mind."

Mitchell grinned and nudged McKay, who grumbled, "Kids," under his breath and rolled his eyes. "And he's never been through the Gate." The officer drawled.

"Nor will he." McKay glowered at them both in reminder. "May I ask why we're going to the Asgard Core, Colonel, when I could have just as easily done my scans from the bridge? Or Engineering?"

"Because the Core is empty, and there won't be anyone to get in your way – or for you to get in the way of – trying to do your thing. Plus, if you need help with something..."

"I won't." McKay denied flatly with an affronted scowl.

"...then Thor can lend a hand." Mitchell finished, as if Rodney hadn't spoken. McKay huffed.

"Thor?" McGee repeated, blinking. "As in Norse god with the thunder and the hammer?"

"Mostly, yes." Mitchell affirmed cheerfully, swiping his card through the security lock next to the thick doors that protected the Core. "Turns out the Norse gods were actually the Asgard." He led them inside and they were immediately greeted by a holographic image flashing into appearance near the main control console of the big-headed, grey, skinny, huge black-eyed alien that was their old friend and ally, Thor. He looked so life-like that if the real Thor had been standing next to it, no one could have told the difference. "Hi, Thor." Mitchell greeted him.

"Colonel Mitchell." The hologram responded. McGee had stopped in the doorway, mouth hanging open in complete and total shock at the sight of him, while McKay breezed on by and headed for the control console. "Welcome. How may I be of assistance?"

"Not me, Thor." Mitchell pointed at McKay, then McGee. "These two. I don't think you ever met Dr. Rodney McKay." The scientist glanced over, waved, then went back to figuring out the console (it had been a while since he used Asgard tech).

"I have not made his acquaintance personally, but I have knowledge of him from the SGC database." Thor intoned, inclining his head.

"Ah, good. That will make things easier." Mitchell shifted the tablet from under one arm to the other. "He has full clearance to use the Core, on General O'Neill's orders, so give him whatever he might need."

"Indeed I will, Colonel Mitchell." Thor assented, flickering only slightly as the Core registered the access. Then he turned to look at McGee, who was slowly making his way into the room and over to McKay. "And this one?"

"He's new. Special Agent Timothy McGee, NCIS." Mitchell introduced him. "We're working on a joint mission with that agency regarding the Trust, so he's with McKay."

"Ah. Very well." Thor blinked those big black eyes at McGee. "Welcome aboard the _Odyssey_, Agent McGee."

"Uh...uh...thanks!" the poor guy stuttered, wide-eyed himself.

Grinning, Mitchell glanced down at his witch, then made for the door. "Good luck, boys! I'll be on the bridge, so yell when you find something."

"Yes, yes, Colonel." McKay waved him off, not noticing that Mitchell had already left. "Okay, so...ah ha!" He exclaimed, picking up one of the egg-shaped control stones and placing it where he wanted it on the console. On the large view screen in front of them, a graphic map of the Earth came up. "Now..."

"If you would find it easier and faster, Dr. McKay, simply give verbal commands and I shall execute them." Thor offered. McKay looked over at him, mildly surprised, and nodded.

"Oh. Okay. Thank you." He added, since it didn't hurt to be polite to an AI.

"You are welcome."

McKay blinked, shook his head, and said dryly, "If you were like this in reality, Thor, then I have to tell you that you're much more agreeable than your friend, Hermiod, was." His expression saddened briefly, since he kind of missed the Asgard engineer from the _Daedalus_ even though he'd been kind of snarky and disapproving most of the time – like McKay himself, really.

"This hologram is a real-time representation of the true Thor, including his personality, as it was at the time of its creation." Thor explained, as if Rodney had asked. "Hermiod was one of those Asgard who initially disagreed with sharing our technology with the Tau'ri of Earth, and did not believe you were ready to take your place amongst the Four Great Races as the Fifth Race." Rodney paused and focused on Thor at info, interested despite himself.

"Oh? I didn't know that. So why did he get assigned to the _Daedalus_?"

"The High Council and myself felt that serving on the Tau'ri vessel would expose him to your true natures and he would see for himself that you have come much farther than he believed. We also hoped that he would come to...like you, as many of us already did."

Rodney tilted his head thoughtfully as he gazed at Thor's hologram. "Really? Well, I don't know that it worked, but I enjoyed working with him on the occasions that occurred." Clearing his throat noisily, McKay brusquely got back to business. "Anyway, I have a couple of locations down on the planet that I need to scan. We have blueprints of the buildings, but we're wondering if there may be rooms or structures hidden within them that would not be included in the blueprints because we believe that Baal may control the buildings."

"The sensors can certainly determine this, unless Baal is using any of the shielding that my database informs me he does, indeed, possess, or unless he is blocking any sort of signals at the location that would indicate the presence of Goa'uld or their technology." Thor answered. McKay frowned, but shrugged.

"Well, let's try it and see what we get." He began looking around for his tablet, only to realize he left it in O'Neill's study. He was so used to carrying it around on Atlantis that he didn't realize he hadn't picked it up before they left the room. "Ah...crap. I left my tablet..." Yet he'd remembered his modified LSD. Idiot!

McGee, happy to at least be sort of useful, pulled out his cell phone and called up the addresses he'd saved. "Here." He said, offering it to the scientist. McKay took it, flashed a begrudgingly grateful smile, and turned back to Thor.

"Okay, Thor. Location one..." he rattled off the addresses, "...and two."

"Very well. Calibrating sensors." Thor turned away toward the view screen, which began to shift and zoom in on the desired locations. Rodney had gone with the Phoenix address first.

"So that's what the Asgard look like?" McGee asked, whispering. "They're what everyone calls 'little green men'?"

McKay snorted. "Except for the colour, yes. Although, we now know the whole 'alien abduction' thing was perpetrated by a lone, rogue Asgard scientist named Loki. See, the Asgard were able to live so long because they continuously cloned themselves and downloaded their consciousnesses into the new bodies every time the old one wore out, broke down, whatever. Unfortunately for them, you can only make so many copies of a copy before the genetics simply can't take it any longer and break down."

"Like with computer data!" McGee said in understanding.

"Well...close enough." McKay didn't feel like trying to explain it. "Anyway, Loki was looking for a way to stop the degradation. The Asgard were dying, you see, and had very little time left. He came here and was performing unsanctioned experiments on the humans he abducted until he got caught."

"Wow." McGee shook his head. "I feel sorry for them, but..."

"Yes, well, ultimately they were unsuccessful." Rodney's mouth turned downward and he glanced at the hologram sadly. "It was only a few months ago – almost a year now, I guess – that the Asgard invited SG1 and _Odyssey_ to their new home world in our galaxy, where they proceeded to give us this," he gestured at the room at large, "the Asgard Core, which is the sum total of _all_ their knowledge and technology – their _Legacy_ – and gathered together with the intention of committing mass suicide." It still baffled Rodney's mind how they could have even considered such a thing. "They didn't get the chance. Some of the bad guys we were currently at war with showed up and blew up their planet – and the Asgard with it. None of them survived, and they'd only just barely finished installing and integrating everything on board _Odyssey_ when it happened."

McGee's eyes were huge. "My god!" He breathed, horrified on all kinds of levels. "That's...that's...horrible!"

"Yeah. It was. Of all the races we've met and made friends with, the Asgard have been the only advanced race who didn't treat us like we were completely stupid or unworthy of their help. They were excellent allies, even when they had so many of their own problems." Rodney shrugged.

"Dr. McKay," Thor interrupted, "I have attempted to scan both locations for possible hidden structures. The first location in the human settlement of Phoenix shows nothing unusual or of note for a typical human building. Here is the sensor data." The view screen enlarged one section and Rodney glanced it over carefully, but had to agree with Thor.

"No, I don't see anything either. What about the Las Vegas building? It was larger and more complex."

"Indeed, however you may not have realized it was constructed quite recently – and that the sensor data indicates a significant level of naqahdah among the materials used in construction." Thor blinked slowly once and the screen shifted again. Rodney's eyes widened as he took in the data on display.

"Oh boy. That's not a good sign, though we should have expected it, I suppose. He's pulled that one before."

"Excuse my beginner's question, but what is naqahdah?" McGee asked tentatively.

"It's a mineral – an element not found on our own planet naturally – and it's what was used by the Ancients to build Stargates. The Goa'uld found it useful for all kinds of things, however, and most of their technology utilizes it in some way." McKay answered absently, studying one area of the plan from the sensor data more closely. "We also learned from another human culture on another planet how to build generators – really powerful ones – that use the mineral as a kind of fuel. Thor, this area here looks...suspicious. Is that supposed to be another level down?" Rodney pointed at the spot, and Thor tilted his head.

"The sensors could not get accurate readings from that area, Dr. McKay. Something is interfering, though I cannot say if it is shielding or perhaps some sort of technology which disables or scrambles signals." Thor informed him.

"So there's no way to tell if the cause is some natural phenomenon or some kind of tech? What about really basic signals?" Rodney was already attempting to recalibrate the sensors. "Radio waves, electromagnetic fields, x-rays, ultra-sound..." he listed them off as he attempted each one – and came up frustrated every time. "Damn it!"

"If we went down there, could we use something to...boost the sensors?" McGee suggested. "Like...an antenna or something?"

Rodney snapped his fingers and exclaimed, "Wait! Maybe my LSD will have better luck." He pulled it from the pocket he'd tucked it into inside his jacket.

"That is of Ancient design." Thor observed, actually appearing curious – an odd thing for a hologram. "I have not seen one before. What does it do? And where did you find it?"

"Pegasus." McKay answered, quickly downloading the data from the sensors and checking himself for his cell phone – just in case. He blinked and fumbled the device when a flash of light scanned it in his hands abruptly. Then he shrugged – couldn't hurt to have the design and tech information for back-up. "We went with 'Life Signs Detector' when we named it because we don't know what the Ancients actually called it. LSD for short. It does many things – scanning for all kinds of energy signatures is mainly what I use it for. John uses his mostly to be stealthy and sneak up on or away from bad guys."

"Remarkable. How fascinating."

Rodney nodded, not really paying attention, and glanced at McGee. "You up for a quick trip? I think this will get us what we need if we get closer."

McGee nodded eagerly, then paused, hesitantly adding, "Are you sure we should? I mean if it _is_ the place then won't we be risking not only ourselves but Mike, too? Maybe we should ask Gibbs and Colonel Sheppard first..."

"Bah, nonsense! Even if Baal's Trust goons _are_ loitering about, they don't know either of us from any other annoying human down there." McKay scoffed dismissively. "We'll only be a few minutes getting our scans, and then we come right back up here again. Piece of cake."

"Well, okay, if you're sure." McGee agreed, though still appearing sceptical.

"I'll transmit the results of my scans if I find anything, Thor. Save all this other data, too, in case we need it again later." McKay moved to another console, consulted the view screen, and entered a set of coordinates for transport. "I'll beam us to this parking lot area next to the building on the far back west side. It looks to be mostly empty – probably where they park the station's news vehicles."

"Good luck, Dr. McKay." The hologram said as they were enveloped in the light of the Asgard beam.

McGee blinked away the sense of disorientation and looked around where they'd reappeared. McKay had been right, after all; there were only two SUVs and a news van in the small lot. The other spaces were empty. The scientist had also looked around curiously, but it was more to orient himself rather than to threat-assess. McGee shook his head and hurried to catch up to McKay when – from several feet away because he'd already started walking – he called impatiently, "Well come _on_, then! We don't have all day, McGee!"

"Sorry! Sorry! It's taking a little bit of getting used to the whole transporter beam thing." The agent apologized, slowing to keep pace with the scientist.

Rodney grunted, keeping focused on the readings he was already picking up with his LSD. He wasn't going to bite the kid's head off (well, maybe a bit of a nibble, really) when he still remembered the first few times he himself had used the beams. He hadn't been a-okay with it so much, either. "The shine will wear off eventually." Was all he said.

"So...getting anything, yet?" McGee inquired, trying to look at the small screen in Rodney's hand even as they walked. They were walking along a narrow side-street between buildings now, and heading toward the busier public street at the front of the building.

"Huh." Rodney stopped abruptly and turned slowly around in a circle. "Odd. It _looks_ like a natural sort of...underground cave or something, but..." he frowned deeply, "These readings are not what I would expect to see." Looking up from the device he studied the façade of the that side of the building.

"There's a side entrance over there." McGee pointed. "Next to those bushes and rock bed."

"Let's take a look." McKay strode in that direction, occasionally glancing at the readings. "And surprise, surprise! Thor's sensors weren't entirely accurate. There is part of the building that's been constructed with naqahdah – laced materials, but not the whole building."

"Really? Wow, that little scanner is sure handy."

"It is, isn't it? The Ancients did occasionally create _some_ things that weren't total disasters, I suppose." McKay smirked, thinking of other Ancient devices and technologies that hadn't been so useful or benign. "Mostly, though, they're just a bunch of irresponsible idiots who left all their dangerous toys lying around." The LSD beeped at him and he looked down at it, frowning. When he saw why, he gulped and said, "Uh oh."

"Uh oh?" McGee echoed, not liking that phrase from the other man. "What 'uh oh'?"

"John's gonna kill me, that's what." McKay replied, scowling even as he quickly entered some commands into his LSD...and promptly tossed it into the bushes even as the side door opened and several rather large, armed men exited the building and surrounded them. "Uh...hi, guys. We weren't doing anything...just passing by..."

"Silence! You will come with us now." One of them, the one who Rodney took to be in charge, ordered them without preamble. Several Zats were very suddenly primed and pointed at them ominously. McGee went rather pasty (remembering Daniel's demonstration of them to Teyla and Ronon yesterday evening) and McKay swallowed back the snarky retort that he might have said once upon a time and just raised his hands in submission instead.

"Hey, hey! No need for all this!" He exclaimed, not fighting it when two of the gorillas flanked him and McGee and prodded them toward the door with their Zats. "We're cooperating!"

"Where are we going?" McGee bravely managed to ask, his voice almost steady. The leader glared at him, but answered.

"My master wishes to speak with you. You were trespassing on his property and alerted our security."

Two more guards – Jaffa, Rodney absently guessed – held open the door as they were marched in, then forced down a set of stairs to another door. At the leader's words, Rodney stumbled a little as a surge of fear washed through him. His guard none-too-gently grabbed him and pushed him forward roughly. There were only three Jaffa now, having left the others behind, but three were enough.

"Ow, ow, ow! Watch it, you over-muscled gorilla! I bruise easily!" He complained as they were shoved through the next door.

Unfortunately, McGee picked the wrong moment to try something heroic, going for his gun. His guard swatted him like a fly and knocked him unconscious. Rodney tried to go to him to see if he was okay, but didn't quite make it before _his_ guard zatted him at the command from their leader of, "Jaffa! _Kree_!"

The last thing Rodney saw as he went down before darkness claimed him was the damp, dank, dirty cement floor of a basement.

* * *

Relieved that Teal'c and Vala were back on good 'ole terra firma (the message from Landry had informed him of this and requested a chat to brief Mitchell on the mission's results), Lt. Col. Cameron Mitchell finally managed to get away again and go back to the Asgard core to check on McKay and McGee's progress.

To his surprise and mild consternation, he found the room empty.

"What the…?" he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, reaching for his ear. "Mitchell to Dr. McKay, please identify your location." No answer was forthcoming, until Dr. Caruthers in Engineering spoke up.

"Colonel, sir, Dr. McKay beamed himself and Agent McGee back to the surface twenty minutes ago."

"What?! Did he _tell_ anyone why or _where_?" Mitchell demanded. At that moment, Thor's hologram popped up, and informed him that he was receiving a signal from the surface – a highly encrypted one.

"N-no, sir. I don't believe so. We didn't think anything of it since we're supposed to be assisting SGA-1 and the NCIS agents, and we expected Dr. McKay to come and go frequently…" Caruthers stuttered anxiously, obviously realizing that there was trouble. "Shall we scan for their sub-cues?"

"Yes." Mitchell stared at the main view screen as Thor, ever helpful even as a computer AI hologram, displayed the sensor scan results without being asked. "Focus on Las Vegas, Caruthers. Looks like they might have gone there."

"Vegas?" Caruthers repeated, startled, then said, "Yes, sir. I'll notify you as soon as we have something."

"Do that." Mitchell looked from the screen to Thor. "Why did they go down there, Thor?" he asked as patiently and calmly as possible.

"Dr. McKay believed he could attain better results if he scanned the building from the planet's surface using a device he had with himself – an Ancient device." Thor informed him. "He and Agent McGee were simply planning to walk around the perimeter of the building to take the necessary scans, then transmit the data back here if they found anything before returning themselves." He paused. "The encrypted signal is being transmitted from the location of the building in Las Vegas. It is very succinct and simple in content, though I do not understand it's meaning, and it is repeating itself: SOS, SOS, SOS…"

Cameron paled, cursed under his breath then more loudly as the possibilities ran through his mind. "It's a distress signal, Thor. This is _so_ not good. Crap! How am I gonna tell Sheppard and Gibbs?" He prodded Engineering for more information. "Caruthers! Any luck?"

"No, sir. We've widened our search to the entire country, but…" the engineer reported unhappily. "We'll keep searching, though."

"Won't hurt to be thorough, I suppose, even if their sub-cue transmissions are very likely being blocked somehow." There were some days Mitchell wondered why he bothered to get up in the morning – ones he wished he hadn't. He sighed. "Keep searching. I'm going down to break the news to their teams and General O'Neill."

"Yes, sir. Good luck."

After making one last command over the ship-wide PA for two security teams to gear up for a tactical Search and Rescue, ASAP, Mitchell had himself beamed down to O'Neill's study.

* * *

"That was Lou." Daniel announced, hanging up and setting Jack's phone back down in the cradle. "He says they made it home safe and sound, and Anne is thrilled to have the company. They're getting Leyla and Amira settled, Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs nodded, smiling faintly in relief and gratitude. "Good. Thank you."

"Not a problem. I'll go put on more coffee." Daniel excused himself to the kitchen.

"I will assist you." Ziva hurried after him. She was getting a little stir crazy sitting around waiting and doing nothing.

"Do you suppose McKay found anything?" Tony asked Sheppard, who was standing at the big picture window staring out at the neighbourhood. Ronon was leaning on the wall nearby, trying to look like he wasn't hovering.

"If anyone can, Rodney will." Sheppard answered, completely confidently in his friend-maybe-more's genius abilities. He didn't turn away from the view, however.

O'Neill strolled back into the room, having taken a break to use the little General's room. "So, kids! Did I miss any-" he began, but was cut off by the sudden bright flash of Asgard beams and the arrival of Mitchell.

A pale, grim Mitchell who looked like he wanted to seek cover in the worst way.

"Colonel, you look unwell." Teyla rose from her seat, where she'd been sitting closest of them all to him, and laid a hand on his forearm. "Are you alright?"

"Not even a little bit, Teyla." Mitchell swallowed hard, came to rigid attention, and faced Gibbs and Sheppard as his fellow officer and Ronon came to join the group. "Colonel Sheppard, Agent Gibbs…"

Sheppard seemed to read his mind – or he just knew Rodney that well and guessed the problem. SGA-1's leader was paling, too, but his hazel eyes were turning dark green with fury. "What did that idiot go and do now?"

"Ah…I left them in the core to do their scans and went to respond to a message from General Landry. When I returned, approximately half an hour later, they were not there, they did not respond to radio hails, and we cannot locate their sub-cue transmissions." It came out of Mitchell in a rush. He winced as fury and intense concern flood Sheppard's face with colour – Gibbs' too. Mitchell hurriedly explained the rest, everything Thor's hologram told him, and finished by turning to O'Neill and saying, "Security teams are geared up and standing by, General, for a tactical Search and Rescue."

O'Neill rubbed a hand over his face, turned toward the study doors and bellowed, "Daniel! Get in here!" before taking in everyone's reactions to the news. Gibbs looked absolutely furious and – no matter how well he was trying to hide it – fearful for his junior agent. Sheppard, Ronon, and Teyla all looked ready to storm the Vegas building whether anyone liked it or not. DiNozzo, less able to hide his emotions than his stoic superior, looked equal parts worried, afraid, and pissed off.

Daniel and Ziva ran into the room, and Daniel took in the whole scene at a glance.

"Oh shit." He said softly, his eyes meeting Jack's. "What?"

"Gibbs?" Ziva moved to his side immediately.

"That bastard son of a rattlesnake has McKay and McGee." Jack stated as calmly as he could. "Get Davis on the phone and tell him to go over to the NID's HQ and start shooting anyone who doesn't cough up every computer file, paper file, fucking _post-it note_ on the Trust and the Baal clones as of yesterday. I want _every_thing."

His linguist's eyes went very wide, then very hard and his lips pressed together in a thin, angry line as he nodded once sharply and going to Jack's desk and the phone.

"How?! How could this happen?" Ziva demanded, not bothering to hide her anger and fear at all. Tony pulled her aside and relayed the events in a low voice.

Gibbs slowly stood up, and stared hard first at Mitchell, then at O'Neill. "With or without your assistance, I'm going to go retrieve my agent, General."

Jack scowled at him and barked, "Oh, stop that and sit the fuck down, Gibbs. You'll get your agent back, and we'll get our scientist back, so you and everyone else can just take a chill pill and…chill."

"As soon as I get my scientist back I'm gonna kill him, sir." Sheppard declared tightly, hands forming fists at his side. At O'Neill's raised eyebrow he bared his teeth in an unfriendly smile and jerked a shoulder in a shrug. "Just so you know."

Jack rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything since, hey! He could commiserate, totally. He shot Daniel a fond scowl, thinking of all the times his lover did stupid, crazy things without thinking it through all the way. He turned to Mitchell – still at attention – and took pity on the kid.

"Ease up, Mitchell. It's not your fault. You ought to have learned by now that geeks need to be kept on a short leash, but you can't be blamed when one of them chews through it and gets away from you."

"Sir…" Mitchell slouched unhappily, but nodded. "Yes, sir."

"I heard that, O'Neill!" Daniel glowered at him. "No, sorry, Paul. Jack's being an ass again."

"Hey! Quit bad-mouthing me to my XO!"

Daniel just stuck out his tongue.

Jack crossed his arms, the picture of indignation, and pointedly ignored him at that. "Mitchell, take this lot and get them geared up. Sheppard has command, Gibbs is second." His expression brooked no argument from anyone, especially Gibbs. "You'll monitor from _Odyssey_. I'll call Landry and the President, let them know what's going down."

"Sir." Mitchell saluted. "Teal'c and Vala are back, if we need them."

"We can handle it." Sheppard snapped, stiffly. "But thanks, anyway." Ronon grunted in agreement and approval, looking very eager for the action. Mitchell waved this hands defensively, but didn't take the rejection personally. He understood.

"Hey, we're just back-up on this one, Shep. So let's go get ya'll geared up so you can go and get our boys back?" He reached for his ear. "_Odyssey_, beam away."

* * *

When the darkness of unconsciousness faded away and he became aware of himself again, Rodney opened his eyes slowly, wincing at the sharp, needle-like pain that seemed to encompass his entire body. He also tingled in that numb sort of way a person has when they regain feeling in their limbs and extremities. For a moment he was confused because this didn't feel like the hangover after-effects of a Wraith stunner blast. Then he remembered – Zat.

He wasn't sure which he disliked more.

"Ow, ow, goddamnit!" He cursed, sitting up slowly and cautiously. He realized he'd been on the ground, but since he wasn't sure if something else on him was injured (even if he didn't feel any broken body parts), he figured he'd better take it easy. "Ugh. How did SG1 _do_ this for a decade?" Rodney muttered to himself, flexing his fingers gratefully as they began to feel almost normal again. Nope. He definitely preferred the paralysis of a stunner blast. Looking around, he frowned when he realized how dark it was in the…room he was in. He could barely see a few inches in front of his face.

"Great. Just great. Way to go, Meredith Rodney McKay. John's gonna take me home, and space me, and report my unfortunate and untimely demise as the most un-heroic death that tiny little military brain can think of for this."

He might have continued to berate himself if a shuffling sound hadn't grabbed his attention. It was coming from somewhere off to his right, and he froze, going silent for a moment to listen. The shuffling came again, and to Rodney it sounded like someone trying to crawl across a dirty floor, so he called tentatively, "Hello? Is someone there?" Then winced at this own stupidity as suddenly having a wall pressed to his back didn't seem like such a good thing.

"Depends on who's askin'." A rough, raspy male voice returned, full of suspicion – and a vague hint of hope. "If you're another of Skye's goons, I ain't got anything else to say I haven't already said."

Rodney blinked and squinted into the darkness futilely. "I am most certainly _not_ a goon – nor do I have any connection to that reptilian bastard." Rodney replied. "I assume I'm a captive like yourself, since I got myself and my friend captured." He made a sound of self-disgust and guilt. "Just a few minutes, I said. They won't know who we are, I said. It's official! I've lost my goddamn mind!"

"You know the kid? How come I haven't seen you before?" the voice asked, still suspicious but much less so now. Rodney's self-inflicted reaming seemed to be winning him over.

"Uh, I don't even know who _you_ are, so how should I know?" Rodney snarked. At least his headache was loosening up. "Besides, I don't know McGee all that well. We're just working together temporarily." Rodney slouched against his wall. "But I take it you _do_ know him, so…let me guess: Mike Franks?"

Silence met him, but he just shrugged and started patting at the walls and floor in an attempt to learn the layout of the room. "Whatever. I'm glad to find out you're still alive – and that NCIS crew will be thrilled, too. Not to mention your daughter-in-law and granddaughter, who're both well and safe, by the way so you don't have to worry about them. I don't suppose McGee is in here somewhere, too?"

"He's over here, layin' next to me. I didn't want to move him because I don't know what they did to the two of ya."

"Ah. Well, at least we're all together. Makes rescuing us easier. He'll be fine when he wakes up, I'm sure." Rodney moved along the wall, feeling his way as he went. "I guess you wouldn't be willing to tell me anything useful? Like where we might be, any possible exits, how many of those 'goons' you mentioned…"

Before an answer could be given (if he was going to answer at all) a low groan alerted them to a rousing McGee. Rodney hesitated, then left off patting down walls to feel his way across the floor to the young man.

"Oh god…my head…" McGee moaned. "What the hell…?"

"Don't move, McGee, just yet. You've probably got a bit of a concussion from where they whacked you on the head." Rodney found an arm on the ground ahead of him and patted it awkwardly. "Of course the headache's horrible."

"McKay?" He asked, disoriented but lying still as ordered. "What happened?"

"You did something stupid – brave, but stupid – and they knocked you out. Me, too. Woke up here, wherever it is." Rodney summarized. He sighed. "Can't fault you for trying, though. We wouldn't be in this situation if not for me."

McGee's arm moved under Rodney's hand, and a hand suddenly brushed clumsily against his knee. "'S okay, Rodney. No fault. There were…probably security measures…we didn't know about."

"Yeah, well, I'm smarter than that. You were right. We should have waited and told the others first. We could have come down with a team of heavily armed Marines, instead."

"So ya do know each other, then." Their fellow captive observed, relief evident this time. "Sorry."

"Forget it. I'd be wary, too." Rodney dismissed the apology.

"Who…Mike? That you?" McGee tried sitting up, his voice so hopeful and relieved that Rodney didn't have the heart to bitch at him for moving.

"Yeah, kid. You doin' alright?"

"I'll be fine. What about you? You've been here so long…"

"I'm alive, so…can't complain too much." Franks huffed, his tone turning gruff. "What the hell are you doing here, McGee? Did Gibbs lose his goddamn mind, sending you after me?"

"He didn't." Rodney said before McGee answered. "We were just taking a quick look around, on my stupid bad idea. McGee was helping me to check out a lead we found."

"Uh huh. And who the hell are you?"

"Oh! Sorry. Dr. Rodney McKay. I'm a civilian consultant with the USAF. Uh…it's a really long story, but the gist is that my people have been tracking down this…what's his name?"

"Maxime Skye." Franks provided.

"Whatever he's calling himself…we've been after him for a long time. He's after some highly classified data from the programme I'm a part of, and it seems he believes you know where it is – or what it is. Or both, maybe."

"Jenny Sheppard had a cousin, Mike." McGee went on when Rodney paused to breathe. "Lt. Col. John Sheppard, Air Force. He's part of McKay's programme, too, and they were pretty close. When he was informed of her death, he came for the funeral and to find out what happened to her – which is how their path crossed ours. Then you called Gibbs, and were missing – presumed kidnapped – so we all agreed to work together on this one."

Some shuffling sounds came close to them and finally Rodney could make out Franks' silhouette in the low light.

"He said my girls were safe. That true?"

"Yes." McGee reassured him. "We found your wallet with the business card you left for Gibbs."

"Good. Good…" Franks slumped in relief. His head came up and turned in McGee's direction, and Tim was certain he was getting the same vibe (and look) he got from Gibbs when he'd done something Gibbs didn't like. "You do realize, _Probie_, that you and your overly talkative friend, here, just told a whole bunch of things to our captor that you probably didn't want him to know."

McGee flinched, then groaned at the movement because it made his head hurt. More.

"His brain was probably scrambled by the concussion, Franks, so give the kid a break. As for me, I don't care what he heard because he won't be alive long enough to make use of anything we said – not that we actually _have_ said anything useful because _we don't __**know**__ anything useful_!" Rodney stated loudly for the benefit of whoever had the duty of listening in on them. "And for your information, I've been in this kind of scenario – and many variations of it – far too many times to not know they're listening. I'm a genius, you know."

Franks was looking at him now, and if his version of intimidation was trained on McKay, it was not working. "No, actually. I don't."

Rodney huffed indignantly. "Ha! I just haven't had a chance to be brilliant in front of you, yet." Maybe he was desperate, and maybe he'd been hit with stunners and now a zat one too many times, but he had a hopeful thought. "Hmm…maybe if I get us out of here before we're rescued, John – or O'Neill – won't kill me…" he gave McGee an absent arm pat and moved away, going back to the inspection of their cell he'd postponed earlier.

"Do you think you can?" McGee asked softly.

"Maybe. I'm pretty good at saving the day after all these years." McKay frowned as he touched the walls. He'd thought they felt strange before, but couldn't place why. It didn't feel like concrete, dirt, or wood… "What the heck are these walls _made_ of? They feel weird."

"Whenever the goons come in, and there's enough light to see, the place is pretty colourful, actually. For stone grey walls." Franks said. "I don't know where we are, so I can't offer any suggestions."

"Stone grey but colourful. How do you get that?" Rodney paused and looked in his direction.

"Like if you look at it straight on, it's just a regular grey rock wall, but from different angles and amounts of light there's actually all kinds of colours. I don't know…like a prism. Sorta."

Rodney sat with his back to the wall, thinking. Then a light bulb went off. "Oh! Ah ha! I got it, now!" Then he sighed. "Well, that explains the reason we couldn't get very good scans from…uh, from elsewhere." He caught himself just before the said, "from space."

"It does?" McGee asked, interested despite the concussion.

"Yeah, see, the uh…_material_ was specially designed to hide the existence of caves and tunnels from, uh, an ally's enemies. They lived and operated from these caves and tunnels, and it looks like _Skye_ got his hands on the technology." He was carefully skirting the Tok'ra and their crystals.

"So…if we couldn't find the place with our scans, then…our people can't scan for _us_, either." McGee reasoned, sadly.

Rodney shook his head, realized they couldn't see it and replied aloud, "No. You catch on quickly, McGee."

"In this case I wouldn't mind being wrong."

"…Scans?" Franks inquired mildly. Both younger men looked in his direction, then at each other (relatively).

"Um, new technology developed out of that programme I told you I work for." McKay responded. "I can't tell you anything more, Mr. Franks, I'm sorry."

"Why not? You people obviously told the Probie, here, and it's _me_ that got kidnapped and tortured for information I don't have – not to mention a good woman and agent _died_ for whatever it is this scum-sucker wants!" The vehement protest from Franks wasn't unexpected, but it still made Rodney's guilt metre rise.

"I know that!" He snapped back. "But it's out of my control, and you'll just have to trust me when I tell you that you're better off ignorant! McGee, Gibbs and the rest would have been, too, but they had to know so as not to get in the way and be helpful, instead. There wasn't a lot of choice!" Rodney scoffed. "Besides, they don't know very much anyway. A full debrief would take _months_. We only gave the bare bones so they wouldn't think we were completely insane and so they'd understand the full seriousness of what you've all gotten unwillingly involved in."

"That true, McGee?" Franks demanded after a moment of silence while he considered that.

"Yeah, pretty much. You know Gibbs, Mike, better than anyone. He thought something was hinky about Jenny's death, and when he found out he was right, do you honestly think he'd just let it go when he's told to back off due to national security?" McGee pointed out to the former agent. "And do you believe _we_ would let him go it alone?"

"Alright already. I get the damn point." Franks growled, but it was said gruffly.

"You said 'information you don't have.'" Rodney reiterated, crawling closer again. "What did he want to know?"

"Either the location of where I hid the file Decker had hidden in the NCIS archives, or the contents of the file. He's convinced I have to know either one. He seems to think there's no possibility I'm not curious enough to have _not_ looked at the file."

"And you don't know?" McGee wanted to confirm. "Anything? Not the contents or where it is?"

"I never looked at the file. I've been playing that game long enough to know when it's better not to have a goddamn clue. As for where…" Mike sighed heavily, sounding absolutely bone-weary. "I also thought it was a good idea to just end it all completely. Whatever was in those documents was killing people. Good people. So when Gibbs and I burned down Jenny Sheppard's house to hide the body of that Russian spook bitch and cover up Jenny's death…"

Rodney's mouth dropped open as he put it together and guessed, "You let the file burn with the house."

"Yep. Only the guy who's got us locked up in here refuses to believe it."

"That's because he's a megalomaniac who craves power and those files are power to him. As such he can't believe anyone would just _burn_ something so…useful." Rodney tapped fingers on his knee rapidly as his thoughts processed the info. "Well, this totally sucks."

"Tell us something we don't know." Franks drawled sarcastically.

"No, see, now…now he'll likely just torture us for shits and giggles because we have nothing he wants. Well…" Rodney winced and drew his legs up to his chest to hug them, the cold room, fear, and resignation beginning to get to him. "You two, anyway. Me? I think he'll find me useful _some_how."

"I thought you said he wouldn't know who you are!" McGee exclaimed.

"He wouldn't have. Not immediately. I fully intended to be gone by the time he figured it out." Rodney snapped back. Then in a more subdued tone, said, "By now he knows _exactly_ who I am. He's had his own spies in our facilities before, McGee, so I'm not unknown – as a name and by deed. But we've never met before. And now that he knows who I am and what I'm capable of…"

"Quite right, Dr. McKay." A smooth, cultured, only slightly accented voice agreed, preceding the opening of a door that allowed light to flood the room. Temporarily blinded, all three men lifted a hand to shield their eyes against it. The voice came again, a strong baritone that was amused, but underneath was a definite hint of anger. "I believe you will serve me greatly. However, you were incorrect about one thing."

Rodney frowned and glared at Baal himself as the Goa'uld strolled into the room with a mere two guards. Of course they were armed with zats, but there were only two of them – the same two as before.

"Feel free to enlighten me." He said snidely, slowly rising to his feet when the guards made threatening gestures to do so. McGee and Franks followed his lead.

Baal's expression was so smug and contemptuous – and evilly sly – it made Rodney went to grind his teeth. "It is simple; you see, whether or not these other two pathetic humans can provide me the information I desire, they can be useful in providing _you_ the motivation necessary to cooperate with my wishes."

Rodney rolled his eyes and snorted. "Oh, tell me you're not going to try _that_ over-used technique on me! Seriously!"

"You doubt the sincerity of my threat?" Baal inquired, mildly ominous and seemingly amused by Rodney's attitude. McGee shot McKay a few anxious glances, while Franks…actually had to admit the geek had moxy. He was stupid, but brave.

The guards raised their weapons and pointed them at McKay's companions, and the sound of zats priming for firing was bone-chilling – just as Rodney knew it was supposed to be.

"Oh please." He crossed his arms over his chest and looked as disdainful as he ever was whenever someone insulted his intelligence. "Of course I believe you'll do whatever you threaten! I'm a genius, not naive! You know where I've been and what I've had to deal with the last four years. Compared to that? You're not the big scary snake-in-the-grass you think you are."

Baal's expression went from smug and amused to unimpressed and furious. "Do your employers purposefully hire the most insolent and annoying of you wretched humans, or do they just teach you all these same skills at birth?"

"Nope. I'm naturally infuriating. You can ask my team when they get here." Rodney replied, cheerfully. He paused. "You do know they'll come looking for us, right? Your big evil scheme is essentially over."

"We shall see." Baal retorted through a clenched jaw. Evidently Rodney had the same effect of teeth-grinding on him. He turned on his heel and stalked out, ordering, "Bring them!" as he did.

The guards were menacing and insistent, so they allowed themselves to be herded out of the cell. As they were marched along, Rodney took in everything he could in case they got free somehow.

He was pleased to note he'd been right about the Tok'ra tunnel crystals. He briefly wondered if they knew they either had another traitor amongst them or how many had died for Baal to get his hands on the crystals, but the interest disappeared almost as fast as it came. Unfortunately, he hadn't spotted any obvious exits or escape routes.

"Did you have to make him mad, McKay?" McGee asked, voice pained.

"Yes, actually." Rodney replied absently. "He needs to be reminded that he's not dealing with people who are ignorant or stupid, and that we're not like the simpering idiots he's used to ordering around who tend to jump and don't even think to ask 'how high?' when he demands something."

"And here I thought it was never a good idea to piss off the bad guys." McGee muttered.

"Silence! You will pay for your disrespect at our Lord's pleasure, human!" One guard snarled. Rodney shot him a disdainful glare, but kept his mouth shut, wanting to avoid getting zatted again so soon. He needed all his faculties, and wanted to know what Baal was up to.

They exited the Tok'ra tunnels suddenly and kept moving, only now they were back in what was obviously a building of human construction. They passed through a broiler room and stopped when they approached a set of metal double doors that had no windows but did have warning signs posted on them for hazardous materials and authorized personnel only. Baal was waiting.

It wasn't an encouraging sight.

Rodney couldn't quite see, but Baal pressed something on the wall next to the doors and after a brief moment they swung open to admit them all. The guards herded their prisoners forward, and once inside proceeded to separate McGee and Franks from McKay. Rodney was forced to stand in the middle of a fairly large room and watch as the two NCIS men were manacled to the wall at the wrists and ankles. Once they were secured, Baal ordered the guards to leave – apparently unafraid of being overpowered by Rodney or of the others somehow escaping. Although, McKay had to admit, the likelihood of either scenario was nil.

"Now! Where was I? Oh yes. Dr. McKay, I have a task for you." Baal walked past Rodney and grabbed hold of a sheet that had been thrown over something large near the glass-panelled wall in the room. He pulled the sheet away dramatically, revealing what appeared to be some kind of console that was very obviously not of Earth-construction. Or at least, not of modern human construction, since it had more than a passing resemblance to a lot of the Ancient tech Rodney had seen before. Baal motioned invitingly to him, indicating he should come over and look at the device more closely, and before Rodney realized what he was doing, he had walked over and was staring down at the interface curiously.

"I'll bite." Rodney glanced up at the smug snake. "What is it?"

Rather than answering the question, Baal started to speak, giving out all kinds of useless information. It really only reinforced the impression that the loved to hear himself talk.

"It does not work, Dr. McKay, and this is the task I set before you. I require that it does operate properly, and as you are quite proficient with technology of this…origin, shall we say, imagine my delight when the opportunity arose for me to bring you here and solve this little problem. I am much too busy to devote the time and effort to fixing it myself, so you shall do it for me."

Rodney rolled his eyes, scowled, and crossed his arms over his chest. "First, no. I will not. Second, I can't fix anything without the proper equipment and I doubt you'll ask the SGC to send me what I would need if I was willing to fix this thing. And third, all three of us would rather be dead than do anything which would _help_ you in anyway."

"Now, I'm afraid I don't believe you." Baal simply smiled at him, but there was a malicious, hard gleam in his eyes when he did it. "You see, Dr. McKay, I know quite well how far you're willing to go to save others. My sources have told me of many instances where you assisted your enemy willingly in a vain attempt to protect someone on your team, or some others of your allies when threatened. Then, too, I do not believe that you speak for them." Baal waved a hand in Franks' and McGee's direction. The Goa'uld affected a thoughtful expression, strolling over to the two restrained men and studying them like specimens in a jar. "This one, I think, would agree with you, McKay." He said, staring down at Franks – who glared back up at him in total defiance. "He has already provided me with much entertainment and proven his willingness to die." Baal dismissed Franks with a disdainful sniff and moved in front of McGee, who looked uneasily back and forth between Mike, Baal, and Rodney. "This one, however…I doubt he is so willing to die."

McGee resisted cringing away fearfully like a mouse in front of a cat, but he couldn't hide the shivers that trembled through him at the sight of Baal's eyes staring down at him with a cruelty he'd never before encountered in his entire life. To his relief, the alien walked away from him, and he slumped a little in gratefulness.

It didn't last long, however, as Baal went over to a big monstrosity of a chair that looked like a throne and pressed something on the flat surface of the arm. Seconds later, a Jaffa entered the room and bowed low to his master. Baal gave out a sharply delivered command in Goa'uld – none of which Rodney understood – and the Jaffa hurried out. Baal sat down on his throne and turned a disapproving gaze on Rodney.

"It's a shame you are so willing to put your friends' lives at such risk, McKay. You don't seem to get my point, here, in that you have no choice but to cooperate. I've tried being nice about it, but now my patience is at an end."

Rodney frowned as the Jaffa returned with two more goons who were carrying in a large machine that looked like something out of a medieval torture chamber. They set it up near the throne, off to the side, then left the room. The head Jaffa then went to McGee and took him from his chains at the wall, bodily dragging the young agent to the device. Rodney could only watch, in growing horror and panic, as McGee (valiantly struggling to free himself) was overpowered by the Jaffa's superior strength and as strapped into the device by one arm. He then gave his master another quick, short bow and left when Baal nodded once in dismissal.

"What is that? What are you going to do?" Rodney demanded anxiously, eyes darting between McGee and the Goa'uld. Baal rose from his throne silently and pressed another button on the other arm of the chair which caused a panel on the tall back of the throne to open. He removed a ribbon device and Rodney swallowed hard, sucking in a sharp breath at the sight of it. "Now hold on! That's not necessary, is it? I mean, really?"

Baal ignored him and walked back to McGee after putting on the hand device, its gold glinting in a surprisingly menacing way. McGee was focused entirely on him, now, wide-eyed and pale, but bravely trying not to show his fear. He was on his knees with his arm in the device's clutches, and there was no escaping.

"I won't tell you anything." Tim announced, despite the cracking of his voice and the sweat he could feel already beginning to trickle down his spine from the fear. Baal laughed and patted him on the head like a dog.

"You can say or not say whatever you like, human. It doesn't matter to me. What does matter is what Dr. McKay says." Baal went to the other side of the machine and pointed out a lever to Rodney. "This is your final opportunity to save your friend a great deal of pain and suffering, McKay; all I have to do is pull on this lever."

Rodney looked away, his hands balling into fists at his sides. He took a deep breath and when he looked back he stared right at McGee. The younger man managed a nod, swallowing visibly, and Rodney nodded back, his expression full of apology and respect. The scientist never took this gaze from McGee's.

"It _doesn't_ matter what I say. You aren't even taking me seriously with what I've already told you." Rodney wished he could hit something, angry with the entire situation but most of all with himself. To McGee, he could only offer a sincere and abject apology. "I'm sorry, Tim."

"Not…your fault, Mc-" Tim's voice was cut off as Baal pulled the lever and the agent's arm was squeezed so tightly he nearly instantly could feel the blood stop circulating, and then the machine twisted his arm. It was extremely painful, and McGee sucked in a sharp breath that came back out on a shocked cry.


	11. Chapter 11

_Disclaimer:_ The author does not own any of NCIS or Stargate, only borrows them for the sake of this fanfiction. No profit is made by the writing of this story.

_Warnings:_ Anything one expects to see on Stargate or NCIS, expect it here; also, slash in the form of Jack/Daniel, and John/Rodney; het pairings include Tony/Ziva, Gibbs/Jenny.

_If you dislike such things, or are underage, do not read!_

_Thank you to Emergency70 for the beta!_

* * *

**Chapter XI**

The next hour and a half was hectic to the point of chaotic, and wore what little patience John and Gibbs had very thin.

The teams geared up together, when John and Gibbs had beamed down to locate the source of the SOS transmission. They'd found it hidden in some bushes next to the building at a side entrance – Rodney's LSD scanner. John's heart had skipped a few beats, knowing how much Rodney would have hated to leave behind such a valuable piece of Ancient tech – and his own equipment – where anyone could have stumbled across it. On the other hand, he wouldn't have wanted Baal to have it, either, so this was obviously the better option.

He and Gibbs had beamed back up to _Odyssey_ and John used his super gene (because the little device was set to only work for a gene carrier, despite that normally it could be used by anyone once initiated by an ATA gene) to command the little device to show them what McKay had done and found before he'd set the SOS transmission. With help from Thor's hologram, he compared Rodney's data from the LSD to the scans from _Odyssey's_ sensors and saw immediately what his scientist had.

"See that? It's probably a hidden room. Maybe shielded somehow." John pointed out the spot to the others and Mitchell.

"Huh. You know, it kind of reminds me of Glastonbury Tor." Mitchell mused. At everyone's stares, he elaborated, "When Daniel first suggested looking there for...well, we were looking for something, and we were sceptical because so many tests had already been done there over the years by treasure seekers and archaeologists alike. Turned out he was right, of course, when we used _Odyssey's_ sensors and found the hidden caves and tunnel system – but even then, it was extremely sketchy. The shielding or whatever it was Merlin had in place prevented communication to an extent, and the sensors could barely get a clear reading. Even the Asgard beams didn't work. If we hadn't had a Ring transport system on board, we couldn't have gone down there."

"You think this is something similar?" Tony reasoned, doing his very best not to get side-tracked by words like _Merlin_ and _treasure_. "And Merlin? Really?" Well, he _tried_.

"Later, DiNozzo." Gibbs warned. "Okay, so what does it mean?"

"We'll have to get everyone out of the building and search it, and we'll have to do something about that part of the building that's made of naqahdah, too." Dr. Bill Lee, who had been recruited by Mitchell from the SGC to help them out, spoke up. "Even just that little bit could potentially take out several city blocks if it were to explode."

"I guess it's a good thing it's situated on the edge of the industrial section of town." Mitchell sighed. "Easier to come up with a cover story. Gas leak, maybe?"

"Seriously? Is that the best you can come up with for a big government cover up?" Tony snarked. Ziva beat Gibbs to the smack upside his head.

"A complicated conspiracy would only make people more suspicious, Tony. You know this. Do not be stupid." She admonished. He rubbed the back of his head and glowered moodily at the floor.

Gibbs ignored them and turned to Sheppard. "You people are the ones who need to do this completely covertly so how we do it is up to you. But we can't waste any more time."

John nodded grimly, grip tightening on his P90. "Mitchell, we need to clear that building. Can we send someone down posing as an inspector from the gas company and have the building shut down, then send everyone home?"

Mitchell nodded. "Easily. But who do we send?"

"We don't have to. Why not just call them and send them a phony fax from the company? Something official looking, then the PR people for the programme can do their thing with the real gas company so that it's all legit if someone looks into it too closely." Bill suggested, in that almost absent way he had, still working on the sensor readings and Rodney's LSD scans as he spoke. He didn't even notice everyone staring at him.

"Simple is better. I like it." Mitchell nodded enthusiastically. "I'll go get the General to make the necessary calls. As soon as he lets us, we'll move in." He practically ran out of the core room for the bridge.

After a few moments of tense silence, Tony spoke up again.

"I know that none of us wants to hear it, but just so someone's said it...they're probably not still in the same place." He looked around at the group, not flinching away from the unhappy expressions on their faces or the hardness in their eyes.

"Agent DiNozzo is correct," Teyla agreed slowly, "but this is the only lead we have. I believe we will find what we need to follow our enemy at this location." She turned slightly and gestured at all the reams of data on the view screens. "It is obvious that Dr. McKay and Agent McGee were able to find something significant in their scans. If Baal has other properties nearby or within the city, perhaps it is possible to use this data to find these properties."

Bill Lee made a thoughtful, excited noise, and began moving back and forth among the control consoles with purpose. "You just might be on to something, Ms. Emmagen! Let me just see here..."

"Work on it." Sheppard ordered, motioning to everyone else. "We're going to go down and tear that place apart as soon as I have a go from O'Neill."

"Yes, of course, Colonel Sheppard. I hope you find something." Bill wished them luck as they left him and followed John to the Ring room where there were three teams of Marines and a couple of engineers and techs waiting.

Sheppard paced the small area in front of the entryway the entire time they waited for their green light. Well, it was more like a panther or jaguar prowling in agitation to Gibbs – who, despite his own impatience and anger, was leaning against a wall and remaining silent and watchful. All things considered, he thought the kid was doing remarkably well at keeping his cool, though he very likely had a lot of experience with it. Unfortunately. Glancing around at the others who were coming down with them, Gibbs noted that the Marines were, oddly (in his experience, at least, among fellow Marines) silent and alert – and coiled like springs. Certainly they were eager for a fight, as a good Marine should be in this instance, but they watched Sheppard with a mixture of wariness and pure admiration. It made Gibbs wonder exactly what kind of reputation John Sheppard had earned in the programme as a soldier and commander. The man interested Gibbs a great deal, and he could see bits of Jenny in him, too, which made Gibbs instinctively want to trust and respect him.

The big guy, Ronon Dex, was holding up the wall next to the entryway and playing with a vicious-looking knife, looking about as calm and cuddly as a grizzly bear – or a lion, what with that mane of dreads he had going on. His eyes were sharp, missed nothing, and were trained on Sheppard unwaveringly. They tracked his every movement, and Gibbs was under the impression that this man was never, ever someone who could be described as _tame_. Gibbs also speculated that Ronon would take orders from no one else but Sheppard without question or hesitation. There was trust there, the kind that was very, very rare. It said a lot about both men's characters to Gibbs – and he didn't even know their story.

Compared to her teammate, Teyla Emmagen appeared to be the most calm and controlled. In fact, she looked down right serene – until Gibbs got a good look at her eyes. There he saw the same hardness, resolve, and wildness that her two male counterparts were displaying so much more blatantly. She, like Ronon, was watching Sheppard prowl, but there was a faint air of concern about her that was due to Sheppard and not by worry for McKay and McGee. Teyla would watch for a moment, then seem to want to say something to him, but a glance at the other people crowded into the room made her change her mind. Instead, her mouth flattened into a grim, worried line and she stayed silent but vigilant. Gibbs raised an eyebrow when she shot Ronon a questioning look and the big men nodded once sharply then shook his head minutely, before gluing his eyes back on Sheppard. The exchange more than anything told Gibbs there was something going on with Sheppard he was unaware of, and though he was sure he disliked being in the dark, he could only trust that Sheppard's teammates had a handle on it – on him.

Mitchell's voice came over the ship's comms just as Dr. Lee rushed into the room, slightly breathless.

"Sheppard, you have a go. There's a team of NID agents on the ground waiting for you. They're reporting directly to General O'Neill on this and will handle all the pesky details." Mitchell paused, then said fiercely, "Go get our boys, John. And don't bother being nice about it. A dead Baal is just as useful as a live one to the geeks at Area 51."

Ronon's grin was delightfully feral and eager. Sheppard's smirk wasn't much better. Teyla's expression wasn't as scary but she obviously was pleased with Mitchell's words.

"Roger that, Mitchell. Standby for transport." Sheppard responded tightly. He stared at Bill Lee. "What?"

"Here." Lee thrust Rodney's LSD at him. "I calibrated it to scan for similar readings like what Dr. McKay found, and I added a kind of mapping program. It'll use the data to create a kind of schematic you can use to keep track of where you are so you don't get lost."

"Lost?" Sheppard repeated, sliding the device into his vest.

"Oh, ah, yes. I've determined with that data and the ship's sensors that there seems to be a network of possible tunnels and caves underground in the area of that building. However, the sensors just can't seem to get clear readings on it, not from up here. I suspect that you'll have better luck from down on the surface, and if so – and you find the entrance – then you will want something to navigate inside." Bill explained. Sheppard nodded.

"Right. Good work, Dr. Lee." John gave him a tense, grateful smile, and turned away, opening his mouth to address his Marines, but the scientist spoke up again, handing over a small case. It contained several tiny locator beacons.

"Colonel, don't forget that the Asgard beams will probably not work in those tunnels, and that communications likely won't work so well, either." Bill warned, backing out the door. "If you find them, you'll have to get out of the tunnels and caves before you can be beamed out or if you need to request a medical evac. Use those to mark your way."

Sheppard stared at him, slightly disturbed by the information, but after a moment nodded again and stated softly, "Understood. Thanks, Doc. Warn Mitchell of the same, please." He tucked the case into his vest with the LSD.

"Yes, sir. Good luck!" Lee hurried away.

Reaching for his ear, Sheppard's eyes met Gibbs' and held as he said, "Sheppard to the bridge; we're ready for transport."

"Copy that, Colonel. Thirty seconds. Happy hunting!"

"Thanks." Sheppard returned dryly. He turned to Ronon and flicked a glance downward toward the vicinity of the weapon the large warrior wore holstered at his hip. "Setting?"

Ronon's grin was all teeth.

"Not stun." Was the reply, full of eager satisfaction.

Gibbs wasn't sure he wanted to know what other setting there was, though he could probably guess. And then they were beaming away before he could ask.

* * *

The minute they were on the ground again, Sheppard stepped forward and glanced around at the scene they'd beamed into. There were armed men in suits everywhere. Some were on their cell phones or radios, others were directing a steady, orderly stream of civilian traffic from the building's main entrance to the large employee parking lot, others were acting as security – standing in various places all over the place looking watchful and suspicious – while a large group of men and women were gathered together before someone in charge who was pointing out places on a large floor plan and issuing orders. Sheppard started in that direction, and as soon as he (and the entourage of Marines, NCIS agents, and his teammates) came into full view of the front of the pack of suits, the man issuing orders barked out a "Move it people!" before turning toward Sheppard and jogging the distance between them to greet them all.

"Colonel Sheppard, sir! We never seem to meet on a good day." The man held out his hand in welcome, and his smile, though tight and grim, was genuine.

"Bates. Well, at least the NID didn't send me someone stupid." Sheppard returned, equally genuine. "Just try not to get shot or anything this time, okay?"

"Don't worry, sir. I don't plan on it."

"Well, we never _plan_ on any of the crap that happens to us."

"Ha! Too true." Bates turned his attention on Sheppard's team as Teyla and Ronon stepped forward, one on either side of their friend. "Ronon, Teyla. It's good to see you both."

Ronon slapped the man on the back shoulder as he moved past, saying only, "Bates," in reply. He was heading for the floor plans. Teyla offered a somewhat tense smile, but gave him a small head bow in greeting when Sheppard glanced back and forth between them warily.

"Sergeant, I am pleased to see you are well. Ronon and John have told me how helpful you were the last time you worked together." She said to him.

"It's just Dean Bates now, ma'am. I'm a civilian again. Or Agent Bates, if you prefer." Bates met her gaze but surprised her when he held out a hand to her. "I hope we can work together again, Teyla, and that you can forgive me for my past transgressions against yourself and your people."

"That is of no consequence any longer. I cannot say I would not have made the same conclusions, or had the same suspicions had I been in your place." Teyla smiled, and the tension in the air between them seemed to disappear like so much smoke. Bates smiled back, obviously relieved.

Gibbs had no idea what was going on – or what apparently _had_ in the past – but at the moment he really didn't care. He cleared his throat and Sheppard took the hint.

"Dean Bates, meet Special Agents Leroy Jethro Gibbs and Tony DiNozzo, and Officer Ziva David, NCIS. They're with us on this mission." John introduced them. "Guys, this is Dean Bates, former Marine, once one of my command staff, good friend, and currently NID flunkie." John flashed a grin at Bates to show he was kidding, but it didn't really reach his eyes. He was too worried about Rodney.

Fortunately, Bates seemed to get it because he rolled his eyes good-naturedly and agreed wryly, "True, sir. Hello, Agents, Officer David." He shook each of their hands then motioned for them all to follow him. "Come with me. I'll fill you in."

He led them to where Ronon was checking out the floor plans. "I'll be honest, sir. We weren't really told much of anything. All I know is that General O'Neill rather suddenly appeared in NID headquarters with a whole posse of JAG lawyers and even a few armed soldiers, Colonel Davis, and Dr. Jackson, and not five minutes later he's putting _me_ in charge and ordering me to come out here to Vegas to conduct a raid on this building. All he said was that it was operating under one of the Baal clones – or the real one, whatever – and that one of our people and at least one civilian LEO had been captured and were possibly being held here. So, we were beamed in and started clearing the building. He said someone would be coming down to lead the SAR team, but he didn't tell me who." Bates grimaced and actually looked faintly...alarmed, which – for a soldier of his experience – was a little worrisome. "I've never seen him so mad, sir. He was _livid_."

Sheppard smiled at that. It was nice to know that his CO really did care about Rodney, even as a civilian and a once pain-in-the-ass. It was nice to have a CO who cared _at all_. Not that John thought that O'Neill was a bastard or anything, but his past experiences with COs hadn't been good ones. "It was probably a result of your superiors giving him the run-around, Bates. They're even more stingy with information than the CIA or NSA..." Sheppard made a face. Bates frowned at that, but nodded.

"That would explain some things, yes. But sir, why is SGA-1 involved in this? We've heard nothing of the Trust or Baal showing any interest in Atlantis again – not since they failed with snaking Colonel Caldwell." Bates' frown deepened, then he looked around as if just realizing something. "And hey, where's Dr. McKay? Isn't he still on your team?"

John flinched and looked away, and Teyla laid a steadying hand on his arm. "He is. Rodney is the one we're going to rescue, Bates, along with Agent Timothy McGee. He's one of Gibbs'." John informed the former Marine. Bates paled considerably, and all of a sudden he became just as pissed off and hard as his former Atlantis Expedition members.

"What's say we go find a snake to skin, sir?"

"What's say we?"

"Alright then." Bates gestured at the building. "We're clearing the building of people. We're taking names, asking for ID, and scanning everyone who walks out of there to weed out any Trust members – known or otherwise – and any who might be snaked. Just to be on the safe side." He looked at the floor plans and pointed out entrances and exits. "My people are on every point of egress we could find, preventing anyone from sneaking out the back door or something, so..."

Sheppard shook his head. "That's fine Bates, but we already know they're likely not here. We have data that shows there's some kind of tunnel and cave network underground that goes for several miles in several directions. That's where we're starting our search."

Bates snapped his mouth shut. "Okay then. General O'Neill needs to work on his communication skills. That would have been good to know." He shook it off and continued on, "We're dropping rumours that it's either an IRS raid for some sort of tax offence, or something to do with terrorism to keep the public happy and oblivious. Anyone suspicious will be held and taken to Area 51 for further questioning – they won't know that, of course."

"Sounds like you've got everything covered up here." Tony commented, looking vaguely disturbed at how they were all so willing to feed a conspiracy theory to the public. Bates frowned at him, not quite certain if that was praise or a sarcastic insult.

"Yes, Agent DiNozzo. It's my job."

"We'll start from the top of the building and work our way down." Sheppard began indicating places on the floor plan. "That way we can flush out anyone hiding anywhere in the sweep. Then we'll enter the tunnels and start searching for wherever Baal took our people." He glanced at Gibbs. "Maybe we'll come across Franks, too. They might not have had a chance to move him again."

"How many entrances are there to the basement?" Gibbs asked, leaning over to squint at the plans.

"Two elevators, two staircases, and the big loading bay doors. Here." Bates pointed them out. "I've assigned people to all these to keep anyone from leaving or entering."

"Good. Some of my people here will go reinforce your numbers." Sheppard straightened and barked orders to that effect at his heavily armed Marines. In twos, ten of the twenty men and women jogged off to their posts, while Bates radioed his own people to warn them of the assistance coming their way so as not to accidently shoot someone friendly.

"Agent Bates!" One of the NID 'flunkies' came running over to them. "Sir, the last of the people in the building have been scanned and ID'd. The questionable ones are being loaded for transport to the, ah," the agent's eyes flicked over everyone else, "Nevada facility."

"Very well. Oversee that, then make sure this area is secured. The media is sure to get wind of this and be crawling all over us anytime now." Bates made a face as the Agent nodded and hurried away again. Then he looked at his former CO questioningly. "I don't suppose there's a spare set of gear anywhere, Colonel?"

Sheppard smiled and reached for his ear to contact _Odyssey_ to make the request. "You can take the man out of the Marines..."

"But not the Marine from the man." Both Gibbs and Bates finished in one voice. They looked at each other and grinned fiercely. Sheppard just rolled his eyes at them – being firmly entrenched as a flyboy.

They watched the transport leave while Bates quickly donned the TAC vest, holsters, and weapons Mitchell beamed down to them. In a mere three minutes he was checking his P90 and looking at Sheppard eagerly with the sort of respect Gibbs knew only came from fighting together in the toughest of circumstances. It startled Gibbs how quickly and how much John Sheppard was impressing him – and he still hardly knew the man. Very few people had earned the depth and amount of Gibbs' respect that Sheppard was rapidly gaining.

"Ready, sir!" Bates announced, and Sheppard jerked his head in the direction of the building.

"Let's go." John loped toward the front doors where NID agents were removing the scanning equipment. There were elevators on either side of the building – one near the front, in the main lobby, and the other in the rear not far from the loading bay. He pulled out Rodney's LSD and studied the screen.

"Anything?" Ronon boomed in question.

"No. I'm not reading any life signs in the building but us and that group of NID folk over there." John pointed at the front doors.

"So no point in sweeping the building, then." Tony said flatly. "Let's just go after the freaky alien clone and quit wasting time."

"DiNozzo." Gibbs snapped out the cool warning, and Tony pressed his lips together in a firm, hard line, impatient, worried, and really wanting something to shoot at.

"It's fine, Gibbs. He's right. NID can turn this place upside down for us. We'll go after our people." Sheppard turned away and began stalking toward the elevator in the lobby. "Ronon, take the Marines. You've got the stairs at the back. We'll meet up in the northwest corner of the building. That's where those anomalous readings I'm getting are the strongest."

Ronon grunted and started moving, the Marines obediently falling in behind him.

"DiNozzo, go with him." Gibbs ordered.

"Yes, boss." Tony didn't even argue, though he'd rather have been with Gibbs. He did, however, give Ziva a long, significant stare before he hurried down the hall after Ronon. She nodded sharply and flicked her eyes toward Gibbs meaningfully to answer just before they lost eye contact. Tony, satisfied that she would be looking out for their intrepid leader, put it from his mind and focused on keeping up with the Marines and Ronon.

* * *

When they came across each other again not far from the corner of the building where John suspected the tunnels began, the group had swept the basement thoroughly – just in case something else was cleverly hidden where their fancy technology wouldn't find it. John figured it didn't hurt to be extra careful.

They entered the building's broiler room last, and spread out a bit as they moved through the area. John kept an eye on the LSD's readings, and finally they finally converged on a door that appeared to be an emergency exit – except for the security measures. There was a box next to the door with a palm scanner waiting for them. John scowled at it.

"I don't suppose anyone knows how we might bypass that thing without alerting Baal?" He queried, glancing back over his shoulder at everyone. He was kicking himself for not bringing a geek with them for just such occasions. John sort of wished he could call up Atlantis and request Radek Zelenka, Rodney's second-in-command in the sciences.

Gibbs shook his head, since the only tech-savvy people on his team were McGee and Abby. Then again... "Do our cells still work down here?" He asked, pulling his out from his pants' pocket.

"Barely." Tony frowned down at his cell. "I'm barely catching service, boss."

"Ziva, call Abby. Maybe she can walk you through disarming that thing." Gibbs suggested. Ziva brightened a little and quickly called their absent lab-tech. Gibbs moved closer to the wall, were Sheppard was taking a closer look at it. "It isn't alien, is it?"

"I can't see anything that says 'alien', no. It's got a company name and serial number, so it's definitely human made." John leaned back and shrugged, though he did seem faintly concerned. "Whether or not Baal tweaked it or not, however..."

"Right." Gibbs nodded. "Still, we'll have to risk it."

"We could just blow the whole door." Ronon suggested, impatiently.

"We could, but then we'd risk setting off any secondary alarms." Bates disagreed, frowning back at Ronon when the big man glared at him. "We can't do it, Ronon, not unless we want Baal to have enough notice to move our people again – this time to who knows where."

"Yes, Abby, it is. You know the company? Ah. Very well, but hurry, please." Ziva turned away from the box and relayed the situation. "Abby is attempting to pull up the schematics for this security system so that she may guide us in bypassing it." Her attention returned to the phone. "Oh? Yes, I do. One moment while I pry off the casing." Ziva reached for her knife and went to work. John stayed close enough to inspect the innards of the scanner for anything alien, even going so far as to scan for naqahdah and other non-earth materials, but stepped back to allow Ziva room to work when he found nothing suspicious.

It took a few moments, but when Ziva finally finished and the box went dead, John felt a small rush of relief and hope that things were finally going their way as the distinct clicking of the door locks disengaging was heard.

"There." Ziva closed her phone after thanking Abby and pushed open the door.

"Good job, Ziva." Gibbs clapped her shoulder gratefully in praise as he and Sheppard moved past.

"I wonder why Baal didn't use any of his own scary alien security systems?" Tony muttered as he and Ziva followed Ronon and Teyla through the door behind their leaders.

Bates answered from behind _them_, the Marines on his six. "Several possible reasons, Agent. For one, he's hiding amongst normal humans – he wouldn't leave alien tech out in plain sight where one of those humans might come across it. For another, he's a Goa'uld – which means he's also extremely arrogant and wouldn't believe any of us annoying humans would discover the place to begin with."

"Are they truly that self-assured?" Ziva asked disbelievingly.

"Yep."

"Be quiet back there!" Sheppard hissed over the radios. "Loud discussions are not conducive to sneaking up on bad guys!"

"Shutting up, sir." Bates clamped his mouth shut, and Tony and Ziva both made zipping motions across their lips when Gibbs shot them a glare of his own over his shoulder (though he had to look around Teyla and Ronon to do it).

John looked around himself as they moved, threat-assessing as he went. They were in what looked like a utility tunnel and it was cool, damp, musty, and dark. There were some few small, not very bright lights every so many feet on the tunnel walls, but it was only just enough light to see where one was going. A look at the LSD told John they were getting closer to the anomalous readings. "Up ahead." He warned everyone. "Keep alert and stay together."

There was light at the end of the tunnel, literally. The gloom of the corridor gave way to a brighter, more colourful tunnel that made John pause and stare at it in amazement. They came to a halt in a cavern of what should have been solid rock but was more like a rainbow-hued granite or sandstone.

"Whoa." Tony exclaimed under his breath.

"This...doesn't look natural." Gibbs observed, reaching out to touch the wall closest to him hesitantly. "More weird alien tech?"

"What is this? Some sort of quartz?" Ziva marvelled at the riot of colour. "It is quite beautiful."

"I've never seen it before either." Sheppard admitted, then shook himself to get back on track. "Whatever it is, it's definitely the source of the weird scans and stuff." He fiddled with the LSD for a moment, trying to get some sort of clear reading.

"It's Tok'ra crystal technology, sirs." One of the Marines dared to speak up. Everyone looked at him in surprise and question. "Uh...there was an orientation lecture...um, the Tok'ra use the crystals to create underground tunnels and caves to hide their bases from the Goa'uld. It's one of their most highly guarded tech secrets."

Bates whistled lowly. "They're going to be very pissed about this, then."

"Yes, sir."

"Sheppard." Ronon called, gesturing at the far end of the cavern from where they stood when John turned to look at him. "There's two tunnels over there."

John strode across the cavern, studying the LSD screen as he went. "This is a problem. Guess we'll have to split up." Reaching into his vest, he pulled out the little case of sensor beacons and opened it up. He took out half of them and handed them to Ronon. "Here. Slap 'em on a wall or something every now and then. Same as before, take DiNozzo and half the Marines with you."

Ronon nodded and handed the sensors off to DiNozzo. "You do this. Let's go." He didn't bother to wait, heading down the left tunnel at a trot. Tony shrugged and jogged after the Marines and Ronon when Gibbs waved him away.

John handed the rest of the sensors to Ziva. "If you would." He requested. Ziva nodded and took the case from him. John took one sensor and placed it on the span of wall between the two tunnels, then jerked his head in the direction of their route. "Alright, let's get going. Bates, you and the Marines on our six."

"Sir."

* * *

"Stop it!" Rodney finally cried, unable to take much more of the abuse he was witnessing. "I can't do something that's beyond my genetics, you sadistic bastard! Torturing them won't change that!"

Baal stared at him, studying his expression closely as if he could see right through McKay, and after a long, agonizing moment for McGee, released the lever and freed the agent's arm. It didn't make much difference, however, because the pain was so intense that that the black spots in Tim's vision expanded until he saw nothing at all, passing out mercifully. Looking somewhat disappointed, Baal sighed and looped the restraints back around McGee's wrists. He was, once again, chained to the wall next to Franks – who was silent, pale, and absolutely furious.

"Alright, Dr. McKay." Baal left his prisoners to saunter over to where Rodney stood next to the Ancient device. "You have my attention. Please explain what you mean."

Rodney closed his eyes briefly, swallowing hard and hoping he'd be forgiven. "It's Ancient tech. Surely you know by now that most of their technology requires a particular gene the user must have to even be able to turn things on, let alone _use_ them."

"Ah, but that is incorrect, isn't it McKay." Baal waggled a reproachful finger at the scientist, mockingly. "Correctly, most of their technology only required that gene to _activate_ their tech, which could then be used by most anyone." He folded his arms over his chest and gave Rodney a haughty stare. "As you can see, I haven't had to worry about that. There are many of these gene carriers amongst my slaves."

Rodney scowled and crossed his arms defiantly, his chin coming up. "Yes, yes, but it still won't work for you or them, will it? I'm telling you that you won't be able to unless you have a strong enough gene! Unfortunately for you, the two strongest known gene carriers are most definitely _not_ going to be inclined to help you. Jack O'Neill would just kill you on sight, and John Sheppard...well, so would he, actually. Either that or he'd Zat you, put a nice shiny bow on you, and give you to the biologists at Area 51 as a present."

Baal glared at him narrow-eyed and clearly steamed. Almost casually, he unfolded his arms, straightened, and back-handed McKay across the face. Hard. Rodney cried out in pain, feeling not just the sting of the slap on his skin but the sharp, nauseating cracking of bone. Off-balance, the world tilted and he hit the floor, barely able to stop himself from cracking his head on the cement. His ears were ringing as it was, and already his eye was watering and closing up from the blow, his vision wavering.

Groaning he pushed himself up a little, raising a hand to gingerly probe his cheek. He was pretty sure he had, at the least, a fractured cheekbone.

"Get up, human. You will make this device work in the next half hour, or I will kill one of your friends." Baal pointed at the device's control console imperiously. "No more excuses! Go!"

Rodney moaned and swallowed back the urge to puke all over, the pain in his face and head was so bad. He honestly wondered why he hadn't passed out yet, but since he hadn't, he could only attempt to buy more time in the hope that John would find them. Slowly, dizzily, he pulled himself upright and staggered over to the console.

"Why should I, anyway?" He muttered the question even though Baal could hear him quite clearly. "You're going to kill me – us – whether or not I'm successful. There's no incentive in this for us. Not really."

"Your _incentive_, Dr. McKay, is to stay alive. Cooperation will get you somewhere, especially if you do so with the proper respect I am due." Baal walked over to his 'throne' and slid into it, leaning back comfortably and watching McKay predatorily, as if he was just waiting for another excuse to attack.

"You don't honestly believe I'm going to kiss your ass just to stay alive a little longer, do you? I'd rather be dead." Rodney poked at the console thoughtfully. There was writing all over it – just not any form Rodney recognized. It was times like this that he actually envied Daniel Jackson's insane capacity for and understanding of languages. Even now, under dire, life-threatening circumstances, his scientific mind was curious enough to want to study the device. He minutely wished he'd kept his LSD, despite having abandoned it for a good cause. The translation programme on it would have been useful. "You realize that this would be easier and quicker if you just told me what it's supposed to do." Especially with the massive face-ache he now had, making it hard to concentrate.

"Is your reputation as a 'genius,'" Baal drawled the term mockingly, as if such an idea was preposterous to him, "McKay, something that is highly exaggerated or an outright lie? Because I've been told you're at least as intelligent as Samantha Carter. For a human, she showed surprising intelligence."

Rodney snorted inelegantly, even as he bristled at the implications Baal was making. "Like I care. You're asking the impossible. I can't fix something when I one, don't know what the hell it is, and two, don't know what's wrong with it. I can't translate this language, either." He winced when he shook his head, and his hand came up to his face automatically against the pain – doubled by the wince. A wave of dizziness threatened to take his legs out from under him and he braced himself on the console with both hands. "I don't suppose you've got some Advil around here?"

Baal just looked at him for one long moment, then sat forward on his chair. "It is a device from among the many things Anubis collected. It was damaged when he found it, and apparently he stopped caring enough to bother continuing his efforts and had it put away in a treasure vault on one of my loyal planets."

"One of your...oh. That's right. I forgot you were one of his stooges for a while there." Rodney fervently wished he could at least sit down, and the snide comment had come out of his mouth before it even registered. Surprisingly, Baal let it slide.

"As would any of us when faced with such power and knowledge, McKay. Anubis was, perhaps, the greatest of us all – rivalling even Ra." Baal actually seemed to _admire_ the half-ascended snake. It absolutely baffled Rodney, since he'd heard all about how Baal had allied with the SGC and its allies several times in the fight against Anubis and, later, the Replicators. "It is unfortunate that he could not use his power and knowledge effectively, and when it became clear to me that was the case, that I had to turn against him."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. If you're expecting sympathy or something, forget it." Rodney snapped, gingerly circling around the console, trying not to aggravate his injuries further. At least the room stopped spinning and his vision was clear again. Now if only his knees would cooperate and hold him up without buckling...

A Jaffa entered the room just then, bowing to Baal before speaking. "My Lord, there is a matter which requires your immediate attention."

Baal didn't look very pleased to be interrupted, but rose from his throne and headed for the door. "Very well. McKay, I shall leave you to study the device. Perhaps when I return, you will have realized the wisdom in cooperating with me." His eyes flashed golden, and his voice changed to that creepy, hollow-toned sort the snakes were known for. "Your friends here are depending on you." He threatened one last time with a wave of his hand toward McGee and Franks.

Rodney scowled at him, but said nothing as Baal and his Jaffa left the room. Then he managed to shakily round the console and slide down to the floor gratefully with an agonized moan.

"Oww...my head." He leaned against the console and closed his eyes in minimal relief. Sitting was good. Lying down would be better, but he figured it wasn't such a good idea with a probable concussion. Too easy to fall asleep that way.

"You doin' alright, son?" Franks asked gruffly.

"Oh, just peachy, thanks. I've actually had worse." Rodney laughed dryly, only a hint of hysteria to be heard in it. Sobering, he opened his eyes and looked across the room at the older man. "You?"

"I'm fine." Franks grunted, looking over at McGee instead of Rodney. "Not so sure about the kid, though."

Rodney looked at him, too. The guilt was weighing heavily on his shoulders, and he really hoped the agent wouldn't hold too much of a grudge when they got out of this. _If_ they did, the likelihood of which was getting dimmer by the moment the longer they went without any further sign of rescue. And what the hell was taking John so long anyway?

"'M...okay." Tim murmured, startling Rodney a bit because he'd thought he was still unconscious. "Just...hurts. A little."

Franks snorted out a laugh. "You been hangin' around Gibbs too long, McGee. Don't be a tough guy like us old war horses. Won't make your life any easier."

"DiNozzo." Was McGee's reply to that, which got a genuine laugh of amusement from Franks. Rodney gave them a blank look, then shook his head.

Closing his eyes again briefly to prepare himself, Rodney took a slow, deep breath, then let it out and heaved himself up onto his knees, first – testing his balance and the dizziness – then used the console to pull himself up all the way to his feet. He didn't really feel so good, but he didn't know how much time he had before Baal got back. Whether the snake knew it or not, Baal had actually given him enough info to at least have an idea of where to start looking.

"What're you goin' to do?" Franks questioned suspiciously, watching him.

"What'd I miss?" McGee asked, lying on the floor and watching McKay slowly circle the console again and again, running inquisitive fingers over its surfaces as if looking for something.

"Baal said Anubis found this and was trying to make it work, but couldn't and gave up in favour of other things. Which means there's a ninety percent chance I know whose technology this thing is, which means that I may be able to figure it out, given enough time, even though I can't read any of these scribbles on it." Rodney said, though it sounded more like he was thinking out loud more than talking to them. "So if I'm right, there should be a...ah ha!" He exclaimed triumphantly, as he pressed on a certain spot and a small panel door popped open. He'd found the compartment where the crystals and wiring of the console were connected to the device.

"Does he make any sense to you?" Franks demanded of McGee, unhappy at being so out of the loop. "One of you had better start tellin' me what's going on! Who is 'Anubis', what was all that stuff about genetics and technology; and just who is this Maxime hombre, anyway?!"

Rodney popped his head up from the panel, expression neutral, saying, "I'd love to tell you all about it but for one thing, it's classified, and for another, you're not cleared to know. Also, I'm too busy trying to buy us time until we're rescued, so..." he gave his best glare – entirely marred by the bruising and swelling around his eye – and ducked back down again.

Franks let out a colourful invective and turned on poor McGee. "McGee!"

Wincing as he carefully levered himself up to a sitting position with his good arm, Tim turned toward Gibbs' mentor. "I'm sorry, Mike. I really am. I hardly know anything, either, and what little I do, I can't tell you. Just...Dr. McKay seems to know what he's doing, so we'll just have to go with the flow." He looked over at McKay. "You _do_ know what you're doing, right?"

"Nope." Rodney's reply was scarily cheerful. "Welcome to my life! Every day is a thrill ride of mortal danger and fixing what's broken at the very last minute."

McGee – already pale – looked about ready to just keel over. "Are you joking? Please don't mess with me, McKay..."

Rodney sighed and stepped away from the console. "Look, I really don't know if I can do anything with this to buy us some time or not. But I have to try and it's all I can think of to do right now, especially as none of us are in a condition to attempt ganging up on our host and his gorillas to attempt to escape." He stared at the console a moment, then began looking around the room a little more closely as he continued to speak. "We have to wait for help, McGee."

"You sound awfully confident that help will find us." Franks drawled, sounding as sceptical as Zelenka ever does whenever he challenged Rodney's theories.

"You don't know my team." Rodney replied evenly, still looking around. "They have resources that...well, they'll find us, and they'll come. In force. We sort of have this whole 'rescue' scenario down by now. Lots of practice, unfortunately."

"Gibbs, Tony, and Ziva will be with them, too." McGee added, sounding much more confident about it.

"Probably." Rodney agreed absently. He was staring at the large darkened window of glass behind the console on one wall. He couldn't see anything – the glass was totally black, - and there didn't appear to be a switch or some way to turn on lights on the other side from what Rodney could see. He turned back to the console. "From what I can tell, this is just a control console, and it's connected to the actual device which must be in there." He pointed at the window-wall. "Everything looked functional inside the console, so if there's a problem that isn't allowing the device to work properly then it must be the device itself." The crystals were in decent shape and the wiring _looked_ sound. He couldn't really tell without running a proper diagnostic on the system.

"Can you tell what it does?" McGee asked. He couldn't help being curious – alien technology! – despite everything else.

"Nope. At this point, without proper equipment, I can't do a damn thing with it." Sighing, he closed up the open panel and leaned heavily against the console, aching and exhausted. "I think whoever possessed this thing before Anubis found it may have messed around with it – altered it to suit their own needs, maybe. It's Ancient in design but the writing all over it doesn't seem to be, and for all I know it isn't all here. Or its power source is depleted, or _whatever_. If Anubis gave up trying to get it to work, then I don't see how I can do any better without even a screwdriver."

"That's...probably not a good thing. I suppose our lifespans just shortened considerably." McGee leaned back against the wall, his arm lying limply at his side. He really hoped it was only dislocated.

Rodney couldn't deny it, so he didn't. He did apologize, though. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault, Rodney." Tim responded wearily.

"I'll try to come up with something." Rodney made himself let go of the console and move around again, even if it was slowly and he kind of staggered a bit. His eye was swelling shut, too. "Though I should warn you it likely won't work because I can't lie to save my own life – let alone anyone else's."

Franks didn't appear all that reassured, but McGee looked rather sympathetic.

"Yeah, me neither."

After only a few moments of silence, the door swung open and Rodney straightened, bravely preparing himself for whatever was going to come next.

* * *

John was beginning to get extremely annoyed. It felt like they were going around in circles – or covering the whole of Las Vegas through its least attractive parts. They'd discovered almost immediately that Baal was using a combination of existing utility and sewer tunnels and the Tok'ra crystals to create what was no less than a labyrinth of passages. The entrances to the Tok'ra tunnels were cleverly hidden so that city maintenance crews wouldn't easily find them, and to make it all worse, they weren't just tunnels that ran on one level plane. Oh no, they had to go up and down, too. They'd actually crossed paths a couple of times with Ronon's group before John had thrown in the towel and, at the next spot they found where their radios worked, contacted _Odyssey_ to request the city's maps for the underground infrastructure in an attempt to make more sense of where they were and where they were going. It helped some, but it was still confusing as hell.

"Is there not a better way to be doing this?" Ziva demanded, visibly as annoyed as John felt after nearly two hours of searching.

"Hey, if you've got an idea, I'm all ears." He drawled quietly, his tone stiff.

Teyla intervened before anyone could start an unnecessary argument. "May we see the map again, John? Perhaps if we look at where we have been, we can ascertain where we are going."

John blinked, sighed at how stupid he was, and nodded, pulling the folded up copy of the maps Mitchell had obtained god only knew how and beamed down to them earlier. Unfolding it, he held it up against the wall so the others could see it too, and Teyla shone the light from her P90 over it for them. "Good thought, Teyla. Thanks."

She smiled at him slightly then nodded at the map. "You have marked where we left sensors?"

"As best I remember, yeah. See, it does look like we're headed in this direction, no matter how zig-zaggy our path has been."

"And where are we now?" Gibbs asked.

"Here. This seems to be on the edge of a residential zone." John frowned. "Odd."

"He couldn't own a house, here?" Ziva wondered. "He must live here."

"Well, probably, yes. But Baal thinks of himself as a god. Suburbia doesn't quite meet his standard of living when he's used to extravagant palaces." John scowled and Bates grunted his agreement. "No, he'd have some grandiose estate someplace secure."

"What about that, sir?" Bates pointed out a junction not far from where Ronon's group had placed their last sensor. "It says that services are no longer available to it, so it must be abandoned or closed down. Perfect place to hide."

"Maybe. It was a water treatment plant and reservoir, according to this." Gibbs added, reading a column of writing on the side of his map. He had the other map of the city, the one that listed addresses and who owned the properties.

"I'll ask." John tried his radio, and thankfully it worked where they were. "SGA-1 to _Odyssey_."

"_Mitchell, here. What'cha need, Sheppard?_" Came the prompt response.

John rattled off the address. "Look it up and see what the story is, if you would. We're trying to eliminate possible destinations here."

"_Lee and Jackson are all over it._" Mitchell assured him. "_Any luck otherwise?_"

"Minimal. We're guessing at the general direction we've been moving."

"_You'll find 'em, Shep. Don't worry. Alright, Jackson's got some info for you._"

"_Colonel Sheppard, according to city records, the place you're asking about was indeed a water treatment plant and reservoir built around the same time as the Hoover Dam. It was closed down recently when a newer, more up-to-date facility was built elsewhere and began functioning."_ Daniel's voice came over the radios. "_The land is still owned by the city, but hasn't been slated for anything yet._"

"Right." John took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he thought quickly. "Okay, thanks, Daniel. Sheppard out."

"What should we do? Check it out?" Bates asked.

"Yeah. But instead of following Tok'ra tunnels as we've been doing, we'll stick to these utility tunnels instead. I'll keep track of the Tok'ra ones we pass, though." John handed the map to Teyla. "You navigate, Teyla."

"Yes." She accepted the task willingly. "We should tell Ronon."

John nodded, switching channels. "We're moving out, Ronon. Come in?"

"_This sewer stinks almost as bad as a Wraith cocoon!_" The Satedan growled back. "_Sheppard, where the hell are we going?!_"

"Turn a sensor on so I know where you are." John ordered, looking at his LSD screen. A new blip appeared, and he cross-referenced it with the map Teyla held. "Huh. Okay, you're nearest to where we're heading now, Ronon. Have you found any trace of our people?"

"_Nothing. It's impossible to track anything in this disgusting place._" Ronon complained, pissed off to no end. "_You coming to us?_"

"Generally speaking." John explained what they'd theorized. "Scout ahead, if you like, but ignore the Tok'ra tunnels for now."

"_Fine. Ronon out._"

"Alright, let's get going. Don't want to miss all the fun parts." John brought his P90 up for the light and led the way at a brisk walk, mindful of the damp, slippery cement under his feet. The others fell in behind and Gibbs stayed just behind him the whole way.

They were approaching Ronon's last position when the big guy's voice came over the radio – in between the distinctive sounds of his gun firing and the firing of several Zats and P90s.

"_Sheppard! We're under fire! I think..._" there was a burst of static, "_...the right place!_"

"On our way!" John grit his teeth and started running. "Hold your position if you can! Anyone down?"

"_Two Marines!_" Ronon shouted over the din. "_Come around behind them! There's another utility tunnel!_"

Teyla came up next to him and pointed out where she seemed to think Ronon's group was. John studied it, nodded, and kept running.

"We're nearly there, Ronon!" He called to his teammate.

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs snapped, getting on the radio channel, too.

"_Here, boss! I'm fine!_" Tony's voice sounded a little winded, but otherwise alright.

"Keep your head down and stay that way!" Gibbs ordered, cursing himself for not leaving Tony on the _Odyssey_ for this. The man might be a fully trained cop and NCIS agent, but he wasn't combat trained. "So help me, DiNozzo, you get so much as a bruise and you're fired!"

"_I read you loud and clear, boss!_"

John shot Gibbs an understanding glance. "He'll be fine. Ronon will keep him safe." They could hear the sounds of combat as they closed in. John slowed only when they came to a junction of tunnels, and took a quick peek around the corner. He pulled back and said, "Looks like they're guarding another Tok'ra tunnel entrance. I count seven bad guys with Zats and the two on the door with staff weapons."

"Staff weapons?" Gibbs asked, to the sounds of combat and safeties going off on their own weapons.

"Long, stick-like weapons – like a quarterstaff – that shoots out a blast of energy. Does a lot of damage, if you'll recall that phone booth in Phoenix." John explained tightly. Gibbs paled but nodded. "Ready?" At everyone's nods, he warned Ronon that they were entering the fray. "Ronon! Keep them busy for a moment! We're taking out their rear guard."

"_Done!_" Ronon growled back happily, and the sounds of his gun firing back were John's signal to turn the corner and start firing.

Outflanked, the Jaffa were easily overpowered. Between the two groups, their way was cleared in a matter of moments.

Ears ringing from the noise in a closed space like that tunnel, John popped a new clip into his gun and stepped over the Jaffa on the ground to meet Ronon, the Marines, and DiNozzo at the entrance to the Tok'ra tunnel.

"You guys alright?" He inquired, taking a quick look over everyone.

"All but those two. They'll be fine, though. Ronon jerked a thumb over his shoulder at where the two downed Marines still lay, watched over by their fellow Marines. "One Zat each."

"Ah." That was something, at least. "Richter!"

"Sir!"

"The rest of you stay with them and report in to _Odyssey_. Get them beamed back up."

"Yes, sir."

"And secure this entrance. We're going in." John didn't wait for the affirmative response. He just strode on into the tunnel. Everyone else hurried after him, and Ronon slipped by him to take the lead.

"Think anyone heard all the noise?" Tony whispered loudly to Ziva, both of whom were hovering behind Gibbs as they moved quickly along.

"I do not know. It is possible they had time to warn their employer of the intrusion, however." Ziva replied.

"Let's hope not." Tony frowned at the thought.

"Bates, you should go get your NID guys and some Marines to secure the place from the surface." John said, phrasing it as a suggestion rather than an order. Bates frowned, but agreed.

"Yes, sir. Be careful, Colonel, and good hunting." Bates turned and jogged back the way they'd come.

The tunnel became more of a hallway, complete with doors – which was odd.

"Holding cells, perhaps?" Teyla offered, peering inside one that had an open door.

"Looks like." Tony shone a light in, looking around. "Shackles, benches, no windows..."

"Blood." Ronon stated, from where he crouched on the floor. There were a few dark stains on the floor around him – not enough to have been a life-threatening amount, but still blood. "No way to know whose though." He added as he stood and moved to the hall again.

John suppressed a shiver, forcing himself to concentrate on finding Rodney and McGee rather than letting his imagination run away with him. He looked closely at the floor of the hallway to see if he could spot a blood trail, but there wasn't. "Let's keep looking." He pulled out the LSD again, to see if it could find anything or anyone.

The Tok'ra tunnels messed with the little device's sensors too much, however, which was why they didn't know about the Jaffa waiting as they came out of the tunnel and re-emerged in the man-made underground of the water treatment facility.


End file.
